


Little Shop of Horrors

by FreeTraderBeowulf



Category: The Magicians (TV), The Magicians - Lev Grossman
Genre: Apocalypse, FallenAngel!Julia, Ghosts, Good for the Soul, Humor, M/M, Rom-com, drag-queen!Poppy, flower shop au, pettierbitch!margo, pettybitch!eliot, psychic-medium!Quentin, queliot, seances, softflowerboy!Quentin, victorian-ghost!Alice
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-30
Updated: 2019-08-24
Packaged: 2020-05-31 10:33:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 29,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19424194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreeTraderBeowulf/pseuds/FreeTraderBeowulf
Summary: “How do I passive aggressively say ‘fuck you’ in flowers?”Julia's flowers was founded by a depressed philosophy student in the prime of his life, sandwiched between a pet shop and sushi joint off Route 17 (Quentin suspected there was some sort of mutual agreement between the two in regards to unsold guppies) with seances held in the back room. Eliot walked through the front door, asking for that very specific bouquet. Things ensue.Between a secret wedding for a DonnaMatrix, a mysterious dog, a cute boy, contacting the dead, and maybe saving the world? Quentins having an eventful week.





	1. “How do I passive aggresivley say ‘fuck you’ in flowers?"

“How do I passive aggresivley say ‘fuck you’ in flowers?”

Quentin slowly set down his book (which he'd read several times before) and looked at the man, who was not a usual sort of customer. He was handsome and put together, wearing a crisp linen suit to cut through the summer heat. Not the kind of person he expected to ask such a question in his flower shop at 3pm on a Tuesday, even if he did have some odd customers.

“Please?” The man said, growing impatient.

“Yeah of course!” He said fumbling around. “Geranium, for stupidity of course. I have some Hyacinth, it's supposed to mean consistency but it's.. _pretty dead_ so it might work. Meadowsweet means you’re um, useless? Orange lilies are straight up _hatred_ cause its kinda an ugly flower and Hyacinth! It means prayers and stuff but you might be able to twist that. Like I pray you’ll finally get your head out of your ass.”

He looked impressed, Quentin just shrugged and went about collecting the bouquet. It was truly awful, he almost felt bad selling it. Oh well, he at least put a pretty blue ribbon around it. He always put pretty ribbons for Julia, she would always steal them to put in her hair.

“This to your satisfaction..?”

“Eliot.”

“Eliot. I’m Quentin by the way.”

“Okay Q. Looks perfect.”

Eliot put a 50 dollar bill on the counter before promptly walking out the store, Quentin's mouth still dry. He used the extra tip to buy a hot chocolate at the fancy shop that evening before bed--and really hoped Eliot would come back for another passive aggressive bouquet. Not even a week later, Eliot stormed into his store once again.

“How do I say ‘fuck you’ in flowers, not so _passive_ aggressive. More like _aggressive aggressive._ ”

“You could give them a straight up bouquet of the orange lilies? I don’t even know why we stock them..”

“Oh, you can be more creative than that.”

“Well.. I did get this as a return?”

Quentin handed Eliot a grocery bag that had been dropped by earlier that day by a righteously pissed off soccer mom. It contained the decimated remains of a bouquet of roses, a decapited teddy bear, and a note were ‘I still love you’ was scribbled out and hastily written over with “Fuck you Jared, the divorce is final.” Quentin gave her two dollars to leave and made a note to never sell to ‘Jared’ again.

“Wow. Just wow.”

“Yeah, she was..nice.”

“I’m pretty sure she cut its head of with a spoon.”

“Well she looked like she wanted to snap _me_ in half so, glad Teddy took the fall.”

“Me too, wouldn’t want anything to happen to that pretty little face of yours.”

Quentin felt the blush spread across his face, and quickly cleared his throat and took a breath. He alway thought he looked stupid when he was blushing.

“So can I uh, ask who this is for?”

“Bambi.” He groaned. “There was a drunken wedding in Vegas.”

“Wait you married her?”

“No, no. She married a drug dealer.”

Eliot started at Quentin's confused expression for a minute before laughing.

“Oh Q. She married her boyfriend, who may or may not sell sweets of a hallucinogenic quality. They are in something resembling love, but the bitch didn't invite me to her wedding.”

“But wasn't she drunk? 

“Well, yes, I think she also ate one of his lemon bars so the last thing she was was _lucid_ but she totally downplaying the fact, _she didn't invite me to her wedding_.”

“But-”

“I am beyond logic Baby Q. Let me fuck with her.”

Eliot, in his proper fashion, gave Quentin way to much money and started out the door.

“Wait!” Quentin yelled before cringing in on himself.

“What?”

“You forgot this.”

Quentin scurried over and tied a pretty gold ribbon around the top of the grocery bag of horror, making sure the bow was even.

“I think that may undercut the message.”

“Well, it's kinda our signature.”

Eliot let out a creeping smile. “I'll take your word for it Q.” And hurried out the door. Quentin spent the afternoon daydreaming about the most horrendous bouquets imaginable, and didn't try to escape into his books once. As he fell asleep he considered it entirely possible that day was one of his longest stints in the real world since puberty.

***

Julia's flowers was founded by a depressed philosophy student in the prime of his life, sandwiched between a pet shop and sushi joint off Route 17. Quentin suspected there was some sort of mutual agreement between the two in regards to unsold guppies, because the one time Quentin are there he was out of commission for at least three days. He still wasn't over the wilted chrysanthemums.

Seances are held in the back room.

It wasn't exactly advertised, but things like that had a way of circulating in the community of skeptics and clueless ‘witches’. When he says ‘witches’ he means slightly overweight teenagers giving the finger to their religious parents by impersonating The Craft.

Today a lady named Kady was coming in to contact her boyfriend. It was quite sad really, he’d died of some kind of advanced cancer. It was 8:30pm and he was making sure everything in the shop was just so--Julia liked it that way-- when a girl wandered in. Hair and makeup done to the nines and wearing a dress that looked more appropriate for homecoming than a day out.

“Hi! We’re closing but I can get you a ready made bouquet or something if that's what you came for.”

“Oh, sorry. My names Margo,I actually need some help.”

“Occasion?

“Long story, but I need a shit ton of your flowers.”

“Um, elaborate?”

“I mean several pounds, dramatic archways, centerpieces, the works.”

“Oh, that's a bit more than I can do tonight, and I would have to order some things.. Could you maybe give me a color scheme? You can come back tomorrow and I have some ideas and samples.”

“Lovely. Yellow would be nice.” She purred, and walked out the door, leaving a card on his desk.

_Margo Hanson--DonnaMatrix, SugarBaby._

As his next customer wandered through the door and he lead her into the back room, Quentin wondered if lives like his were meant to be inherently strange, or this was just how everyone handled death.  
  



	2. An Unholy Trinity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A DonnaMatrix, a psychic flourist, and a wine sommiler prove an intesting dynamic. Quentin talks to a dog.

Quentin was putting together an anniversary arrangement when Margo walked into his shop, and dear God was that a  _ whip _ in her hand _? _

“Hi, you said you’d consult with me today?”

“Hi um, yeah I have these.” He said stumbling to pull out the samples. He’d already gotten a compliment on it this morning, but with her standing in front of him he felt surely nothing could live up to her standards. “I can totally redo it if you don’t like it, Mrs. Lipson said it looked nice.”

“Mrs. Lipson?”

“Oh she’s this uh, old lady. She used to own the store, before me. Still visits sometimes.”

“Oh, you own the place.”

“Well I rent the building but, yeah.”

“And whose Julia? You look a bit young to be married.”

“Best friend, shops as much hers as it is mine.”

“Well, she sounds adorable, is she the witch?”

“What?”

“You have a damn pentagram where you think no one can see.”

“That's me!” Quentin said a bit too quickly. “I do uh, seances, in the back room. Kinda a side business. I can make you an appointment if your interested..”

“I might actually. I have someone I need to murder.”

“Don't we all?”

She chuckled at that, and laid herself across the counter like she owned it. “Now, I’m planning a wedding. Possibly a funeral, flowers are involved for both. I like what you picked out, it's pretty. The event will be pretty..big. You think you can handle it,  _ stud _ .” She drawled, biting her tongue in a smile.

“For sure.” Then because this sounded like a  _ pretty fucking heafty  _ commision anyways and Quentin could stand to use a few hours out.. “Do you know the space your going to use? I can help you more if I know the size and stuff.”

“Oh for sure, swing by this afternoon?”

“Yeah, sounds good.”

“Bring roses, thorns still on, I know some guys that are into that.” And she walked out the door, the ribbons of her leather corset trailing behind her. It took.. honestly up until the second Quentin was in the driveway for him to realize this wasn’t a country club or anything. It was Margo’s, do you call it a lair? Sex dungeon, it was a sex dungeon.

The knocker on the door was a repurposed dildo that looked to be installed with about as much expertise and zeal as an angry third graders dysfunctional family portrait. Quentin resolved to instead text Margo with the number from her card (which in most states qualified you for indecent exposure just having it on your person) he was outside.

“Oh hi you! Come in, but be subtle about it.”

“Why?”

“It’s a secret wedding, for reasons. Don’t question it. The groom will be informed eventually. You want a drink?”

“Uh.. sure?”

“Perfect.”

And that how Quentin found himself sat in the middle of a cavernous front room, sitting on a four poster bed with leather straps(also..wheels?). Quentin took pause with the fact this was life as a florist on a Wednesday afternoon.

“I brought your roses. I didn’t know what color, I hope whites fine.”

“Doesn’t a white rose mean like, innocence? Purity? That kind of shit?”

“Yeah technically. They just remind me of, a book?”

“Alice in Wonderland you mean?”

“Yeah.” Qyetntin said blushing-- _ you look stupid when you blush-- _ ,”Sorry you just, reminded me of the Queen.”

She picked it up, and ran the gold ribbon through her fingers thoughtfully.

“Do you put this ribbon on everything?”

“Some things, everything gets tied with a ribbon, color changes. We can talk about that too if you’d like..” Quentin said going to reach into his bag.

“Oh no, I just felt like I recognized it from somewhere.” She said slowly. “Anyhow, I want to have the reception in here. Oo! Our drinks!”

Quentin was handed a glass of spiked lemonade by a balding white guy on a leash. Quentin questioned nothing and just..  **drank.** La vie boheme?

“Don’t mind Jared.” She added in a whisper, “He’s lost any last shred of dignity since the wife kicked him out, so I let him do chores.--Anyway, do you think you could handle the space?”

“Oh yeah I just need to know the date and budget and-”

“Shh Q. I’ll send you the details. I have a fucking _ funeral _ to plan. If anyone asks, there's no wedding comprende?”

“Okay, secret wedding. Got it. Can I say one thing before I go?”

“Sure baby.”

“You might want to burn some sage in the other room there.”

“Why?” She said with slight alarm.

“Nothing you need to worry about!” Quentin said quickly excusing himself. He was right, she really didn't have anything to worry about, but not everyone likes being watched, especially if by a pervert ghost.

***

Quentin was given..maybe a days clarity before Margo texted him again. He was having a rather common evening.

“Milton! Can you hear me!” the lady was screaming.

“Mrs. Dursley, you don’t need to shout.” Quentin groaned. She was a heavy set, slow witted conspiracy theorist who once spent the entire session ‘convincing’ Quentin that the government was  _ secretly behind NASA _ . Quentin had once got to know with a 1400s French peasant with a higher IQ. “Let me talk to Milton first.”

Quentin had some form of psychic or supernatural ability. This much was true. Such abilities are relatively uncommon, this much was also true.

When Quentin was a boy he was a queer little thing, with imaginary friends he eventually learned to keep on the down-low. When he was 4 his mother left under mysterious circumstances, which when Quentin was 14 he found that mean ‘mysterious Columbian helicopter pilot she fucked on vacation’. His Dad raised him best he could, or best he could raise a boy who aced the SAT in 7th grade. Even though he was shit at history. The ghosts who lived through it where more than happy to help him cheat--it became his best subject.

Quentin planned on throwing this all away to become a street magician--his best friend Julia felt card tricks was his only real passion anyway--but was quickly disillusioned with the world as it was. He became depressed, supernatural intuned (at one point diagnosed schizophrenic) wanna-be philosophy professor. Once Julia disappered, and Quentin said fuck it, he became a flourist. 

“What’s Milton saying! I can’t hear him!”

Quentin suspected this was because Milton was actually an ancient, yippy terrier. Jesus if animals could actually talk he probably would have gone vegan a long time ago.

“I think he’s saying, he loves you, and misses you.”

“But I can’t hear him, can you hear me baby!”   
  


“You know what?” Quentin said. “Just close your eyes, and focus on the crystal ball for a minute okay?”

She quickly snatched it up in her pudgy little fingers and closed her eyes, Quentin winced because of how much a bitch it was to clean, and he checked his phone.

_ I have a client tonight, but I'm supposed to meet someone to get drinks for the wedding. I’ll pay you to pick them up. 17608 Throupe Avenue. Please and thank you.-Margo _

Which was why after shoo-ing Mrs. Dursley out the door and cleaning his Ouija board of ectoplasmic dog slobber, Quentin drove his 1998 Prius to a very fancy wine store in the city. It was made of splintey old wood, and had barrels that looked like they actually served a purpose, even if they gave him flashbacks to his brief stint as a waiter in a cowboy bar.

He wandered in looking like a lost puppy, when a firm hand grasped his shoulder.

“You wouldn’t happen to be delivering flowers would you?”

“Eliot!”

“The one and only. Or well, the one and only Eliot that works here.” He said as Quentin made a quick and futile attempt to straighten out his hair. “What are you doing here?”

“I um, have to? I’m picking up drinks, for a party I’m doing the decorations for.”

“You throwing it?”

“Oh no it’s just, for work.”

“Shame, you’d throw a lovely party Im sure. Anyways, whats the name?”

Quentin glanced at his phone. “ _ Janet Pluchinksey?” _

“I’ll make sure to get that for you. In the meantime, you want a drink?”

“Oh, I drove but..”

“Non-alcoholic. I make a mean coffee.”

Quentin has found that following the dall dark stranger can often lead to a myriad of interesting possibilities. He’d spent enough of his life letting those anecdotes pass him by, so Quentin was given one of the strongest coffees he’d ever drunk, and got to watch Eliot smart and strong hands put it all together.

“Bambi loved her present by the way.”

“God you actually gave that to the poor girl?”

“She deserved it. Need I remind you..”

“..She didn’t invite you to her wedding.”

“Exactly Q. You live in the city?”

“Yeah actually. Not here though.”

“Here?”

“The nice part.”

Eliot laughed, Quentin burned his tongue on his coffee.

“I used to live in Brooklyn, this place still feels small. Are you from New York too?”

“Oh Q, far from it, but that's more of a 5th date conversation.”

“Well, secretly I don’t trust anyone who hasn't widley uprooted their lives at least once.”

“I think that’s a good rule. You meet a lot of good people that way.”

“Well, I have lots of stories if you want them. I had to move schools once after shoplifting a parakeet.”

It made Eliot laugh, Quentin wasn’t sure if he was supposed to explain  _ yes this is a true story I stole a parakeet for a magic act and it fluttered out of my jacket during a detention _ so he just laughed with him.

“Q, would you wanna maybe hang out sometime. I’ll get some proper wine in you yet.”

“Sure, sounds great!” Quentin stuttered. He cursed himself for blushing again.

Eliot helped him get the (frankly unhealthy) amount of wine into his car, and he dropped it off at Margos (some noescrip moaning could be heard through the door) and went home. He read a book, which was a dollar store knock off that landed somewhere between Eragon and The Princess Bride. As he passed out he looked at a picture of Julia that made his heart sting. He wanted her here, which was impossible, because Julia was stuck in hell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is getting wild, and i aware its getting wild? yes. will it get insaner? likley. enjoy this rom-com magicians-good omens-umbrella acedemy and my weird anecdotes mash up while it lasts folks!


	3. Burning the House Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A fallen angel, a victorian wallflower, and a misplaced phone number are sending Quentin's anxiety into overdrive.

In the beginning of time, the angels hung the stars, and some of the ballsier ones started hanging planets, or black holes. It’s rumored an angel was jerking off and (accidentally?) created the milky way. One such angel, Julia, had an unwavering tenaciousness and unmatched thirst for knowledge. Well back then she had a long fancy name that can’t be pronounced with a human tongue. Technically you could, but you’d need about 6 of them.

But the pesky problem with angels, or at least the ones that actually end up giving a shit about creation, is the ability to perform miracles,  **create** . An ability particularly inconvenient for the ones  _ way _ upstairs. Julia was throwing  _ quite _ the fit over a flood, and tried to create a whole other world ( _ it was a bit beyond her reacher as an angel, but she tried you guys _ ) for the humans to run too. She was cast out of heaven in a blaze of fire.

So Julia Wicker, as she christened herself, (Julia had heard the phrase ‘to hell in a handbasket’ at a party once, found it fitting), became something of a benevolent demon. Something of a constillation prize after rolling a celestial snake eyes in like, every sense of the word. Granting wishes, giving into temptations, an occasional possession, because some people just can’t get things done themselves. What neither side would be willing to admit, was she was pretty damn close to human.

***

Quentin was learning romantic comedy behavior will always come to bite you in the ass. _ Saying  _ you’ll go on a date with someone in no way really helps you when you don’t even know their last name.

“You pigeon livered vazey!”

“Shut up Alice.”

Alice had died in a fire in 1824, and was a true to form victorian wallflower. She visited sporadically, and mostly to tell him off.

“Well you must send him a letter at once!”

“I don’t have his number.”

“Then send an errand boy to his store!”

“Alice I own a flower shop that barley breaks even. I have no errand boy.”

“I suppose you could send, yourself.” She said with a shiver, the very idea of manual labour near sending her into a fainting spell. Every one of her suggestions sent Quentins anxiety into overdrive.

“You know what, I’ll just say I left something at the store! Wander in, drop my wallet in a corner. Find him, we look for it, then at the end I ask for his number.”

“Your such a foozler Quentin.”

“Alice, for the love of God, read the papers I give you. Your slang is getting ridiculous.” He said gesturing to the massive printout of urban dictionary pages he left out for her.

“I like it more when you read them to me.”

“You always get red in the face when I do that.”

“ _ What _ ? A lady doesn’t blush at such things!”

Quentin rolled his eyes. “Carpet-muncher.”

Aaand Alice reigned herself to, well whoever the hell else she haunts. Ghosts can do that, blip themselves out of a room or walk through the damn wall if shit gets awkward. Quentin sometimes wished he had that luxury. He popped some antidepressants, reorganized his ribbons for the millionth time, and tried to nut up enough to return to Eliot's store. All of this allowed him to avoid thinking about Julia.

By some epic failure or miracle of brain chemistry, boys like Quentin come into creation. Academic genius, mild psychic, social agoraphob, and one of the only mediums who wasn't a faker from long island. He’s been having a rather eventful week, much more eventful than he’d dreamed life owning a flower shop would be. He loved his shop, but it was more like a dramatic backflop into suburban obscurity as opposed to a graceful resignation to it. He knew the ghosts would never go away (he’d been on enough meds that had tried), but he’d wanted a break from the bulk of it, his home wasn’t home anymore without Julia. She’d always called himself the guardian angel protecting his future, even though she was technically a demon. But just seeing her face.. even if it was a hallucination. Pretty much every 'real' thing in Quentins life could be chalked up to hallucination anyway.

“Q, I need help again!”

Okay, so he wouldn’t need to go to Eliot’s shop.

“How many of your flowers vaguely resemble cannabis and is that a ouija board?”

This would be an interesting conversation. He could almost see Alice sticking her tongue out at him now.

“Well japanese maple would do quite nicely, I have some of it in the back..”

“Oujia boards more interesting.”

“That's more of a 5th date conversation don’t you think?”

“Oh I was talking about emotional garbage, besides I don't think I’ve ever been on more than 4 dates with the same person anyway.”

“Trust me Eliot, it's  _ really _ a 5th date conversation then.”

“What that you frequent haunted omegle?”

“It’s not-!”

“Shh Q.” Quentin knew it was meant to be endearing, but it just ended up annoying him. An afternoon with Alice isn't a good precursor to anything. “I just need a bouquet for someone. And maybe some matches.”

“You realize this is getting ridiculous right? Poor.. Bambi?”

“Poor Josh in this case.”

“How many people do you do this too?”

“Rather new tradition, I mostly just act cagey and fear commitment. Your flowers have provided me with a far more tangible way of expressing myself.”

“Well, I suppose I shouldn’t judge, you pay well, even if I’m explicit in the tourture of some poor girl and..Josh?”

“The husband. Nothing will haunt him more than the image of his crop burning, but because I’m not a complete sadist, I plan on switching out the plants before I set fire to them. If anything I’m helping him out, free harvest!”

“Are you sure you won’t need help, you don’t seem like the type to know how to  _ harvest a plant.” _

“I am a man of many talents. Sometime I’ll let you see my ribbons from my stint as a competitive eater.”

“Something tells me I’d like that.”

“Then I should probably give you my number then.”

At that point they both had to burst out laughing, and exchanged cards, because that's the type of thing adults do. Or well, the compitent ones, who do this kind of thing when first meeting a person.

_ Eliot Waugh- Wine Sommelier and Bartender _

_ Quentin Coldwater- Florist- Julia’s Flowers _

Or at least, that's what Quentin thought it said. He’d handed Eliot the wrong card. What both had declined to realize was that the card in Eliot’s pocket specified many of the more salacious aspects of Quentin's life as a back-room psychic medium. He wouldn’t learn this until later, when he saw the wrong stack astray from his nervous fingers. This may prove problematic.

So as Quentin gathered every plant he owned that in any way vaguely resembles weed, Eliot asked about his book. It had underlined passages and yellowed pages, as it was a book he’d read a million times over, Fillory and Further. Thank God, Eliot hadn’t heard of it, so Quentin could pass it off as something deeper as opposed to what it was. A pulpy children's fantasy novel. One that had saved his life. Eliot said something about wine, Quentin declined to mention he didn’t like it all that much, Julia had been violently allergic to certain kinds (well A certain kind). He loaned Eliot a lighter, and tied an egregious length of pink ribbon around Eliot’s bundle.

“Promise you won’t burn the happy couple's house down with it?”

“I make no promises Quentin.”

Quentin was given too much money (he thought he could perhaps use it on the date) and finished his shift. As Quentin was out the door, he realized how badly he fucked up, and how badly Eliot could under no circumstances know about Quentin's double life. He then came up with a very, very stupid plan, that honestly really didn't need to be enacted anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> where is this going? why is it going? why am i writing this like middle school aged neil gamein arguing about dick size with an x-rated lemony snicket? i have lost control, i think I'm goig to make them pevent the apacolpyse at some point now. God (Satan?) help our (my) souls! Also I didn't plan on having Alice at all but like it fits


	4. A Drag Queen, A Dutchess, A Dog, and A Dork Drop Dead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> God save our souls but we met Quentins drag mother who wants him to get the D, Miltons a hero, Quentin ends up in an ambulence by the time this is through, turns out being a medium sucks and comes with trauma

One might ask the question, why  _ does  _ Quentin care so deeply about if Eliot knows or not? Because surely he could use that  _ clever mouth  _ of his to get himself out of this pickle. Well, maybe that was more of a third date kind of solution.

Quentin gathered up his things, put on sunglasses like it would help disguise his identity (it didn't), and followed Eliot's rather luxurious matte black car into town. Quentin had lucked out and Eliot has stopped at the sushi place before leaving the plaza.. God help his soul. Thus Qs 1998 Prius rattled behind, spirits screaming almost as loud as his tires.

“You realize your being so, fundamentally  _ dense _ right?”

“Shut up Alice. I thought you left?”

“I get lonely, sue you!”

“Not quite right Alice.”

Quentin’s ‘imaginary friends’ had a way like this, that insufferable perspective that one usually got courtesy of a nosy aunt over thanksgiving turkey. 

They visited at the most inconvenient of times.Like Quentins third grade recital. His solo would have truly been amazing if it weren't for car accident nearby. No young boy performs very well under pressure, many worse when affronted with the spirit of a bloodied corpse. At least that lady moved on rather quickly, he didn’t have to deal with her for long.

“You actually plan on stealing back that card?”

“Yes I- we know how it ends okay! When they find out about you guys!”

Milton, the yappy terrier, was now squirming in Quentins lap.

“Why do you even care that much?’

“Because, he cute? Nice and funny and is way out of my league!”

“He’s bound to find out about us eventually.”

“Don't throw shade Alice.”

Poppy, who had joined them in the back seat, was a Drag Queen who died of AIDS in 1992. She had a wild mess of red hair and was something of a mother figure when he was a teenager, or maybe just a personified sexual awakening. While she taught him how to give a pretty good blowjob, she gave  _ terrible _ advice. He wasn't sure to hope if she was about to say was going to be the exception or the rule.

“Let the boy live, find his man. I think even you know we're a mood killer.”

“He's not  _ my man _ .”

“Honey, you live in a time were...well whatever your nerdy, sexually ambiguous ass is, is generally accepted. Say it with pride.”

“Poppy you gave me this lecture when I was 14, again when I was 20, I'm just saying,  _ we literally haven't even been on a date yet, _ and no way in hell will that happen if he looks at my card. Calls my  _ references _ .”

“So that's why you're stalking him? What are you going to do steal his coat?”

“Maybe?”

“You realize Harriet moved on right? The rest of us didn't die by electric chair for robbing the federal reserve! At least that girl is robbing God now instead of helping you shoplift, what was it? Oh right, a damn parakeet for your magic act.”

“Well I miss her now.”

“Don't we all, and Alice stop pouting. It's not a good look.”

“I think I'm the only sane one here!”

“Wasn't your makeup made of lead powder?”

“Everyone shut up he's pulling over!”

“Oh Q, you did good with this one! My kind of establishment.”

“You've got to be kidding me.”

Yeah, this was an insane warehouse party. Rave? Quentin drove himself to a rave. His anxiety levels were comparable to an abandoned Duolingo owl.

“Okay, abandon ship. We’ll just go home!”

“And read your sad books again? Hell no I had enough of that when you were at university.”

“Poppy you can't even flirt? Even if they could see you it's technically necrophilia”

“Flapperdoodle.”

“That cannot be a real thing people said!”

“Limp dick, that better?”

“Alice what the hell!”

“Hey you've gotten me invested in this relationship now! Changed my mind! And I started the urban dictionary..”

Quentin smashed his head into the steering wheel and just laid there wondering why the hell he can't have normal people problems while the horn just.. blared la cucaracha. Poppy had to ‘drag’ him out of the car, Milton the terrier yipping at his heel.

Now is a good time to mention, ghosts can’t lift things, not really.

In 1907 Duncan MacDougall, a physician from Haverhill, Massachusetts, hypothesized that the soul had a physical weight. Thus, the only logical conclusion was to take a very reputable sample size--6 people--and weigh them as they died. One of the 6 subjects, 1 lost 21 grams. The human soul he believed, weighed precisely this much. He was wrong.

A ghost weighs 23.

Ghosts are a tricky business, who becomes one, how long they stay, how ghosts like Harriet ‘moved on’, how Quentin can see them, but for right now we focus on the fact that a ghost weighs 23 grams. Ghosts can lift as much as a person who weighs 23 grams could, which is really not that much at all. It about enough to make a light flicker or nudge a planchette on a ouija board. This becomes relevant.

“Guys I’ll find another guy! Alice your right this was stupid.”

“God I wish Julia was here, then she could possess you and just get this done herself.” Poppy whined.

“Shut up!”

“Hey..” and Quentin felt a tug on his shoulder that was significantly stronger than 23 grams. “You on something?” said the girl, who was wearing neigh more than an oversized fishnet sock and glowsticks.

“I’m looking for someone.. Eliot?”

“Doesn’t ring a bell.. Stacie?”

She turned to her friend, who somehow was wearing even less. “Does he mean bartender Eliot?”

“Um, yeah.”

“He works in the back. He makes a mean mojito.”

“Thanks.”

Okay, so this party was impossibly loud. This may or may not have even been what the girls said, but at least he was less distracted than Alice was.As Quentin crawled through the sea of people pulsing and jumping, his heart in his throat, he scanned the crowd.

He wasn't sure where all these people came from, because Brakebills USA was too big to be a town and too small to be a city, at least by Quentin's New York standards. There were malls and bars and hiking trails and of course the flower shop, but not nearly this many young people. Quentin took this moment to consider perhaps they'd all been there, but he was too preoccupied to see the life he could have had right in front of him.

“Well if we can't find Eliot there's plenty of fine specimens for you here.”

“Poppy stop I can't even hear you!”

“In my day the people were a lot classier!”

“Everyone stop!” Quentin yelled. People were starting to look at him funny, so he cast his eyes down and walked quickly.

_ Who you talking to freak? _

_ Schizo _

_ Queer _

_ He's totally a school shooter or something _

He was starting to see some of the spirits that lived here, the look in their face when the living made eye contact with them for what could have been the first time in 100 years. He couldn't be bothered to say hello.

_ You belong in a psych ward _

_ I think we should up his meds _

The lights flashed across his eyes and sweat leaked through his sweater and the  _ screaming.  _

“Eliot!”

He didn't even care anymore. Why was he even here? How could be leave? Where was Eliot?

“We'll find him Q.”

“Alice Poppy get the fuck out okay! I don't need you I don't want you here!”

Milton the terrier was yipping and snarling like it would help. The dog was ugly and annoying as hell, but Q was weirdly grateful for it.Even Quentin's not entirely sure what happened next, as Milton was the only credible witness. 

Alice and Poppy left, or went to ogle the club goers. Either way out of his line of sight, which was rare, cause they never agreed on anything. He saw Eliot at the bar, damp curls swaying with the music as he presented a fancy martini with a flourish, and then begrudgingly went to fill up solo cups from a beer keg. He saw Quentin and tossed his coat over his shoulder, smiled. Quentin then did the same thing he did at his junior prom, passed out.

Crowds were never his thing. Crowds, extreme noise, flashing lights, stress, and contact high, definitely weren't. Honestly Quentin was on so many fucking spectrums (a shit ton more if you thought the ghosts were real) no one could really tell if he had autism, anemia, or was just a drama queen. This wasn't the first time this happened, but possibly one of the more inconvenient ones.

“Q!”

So Eliot called an ambulance and gave Quentin Eliot's name (cause like hell an independent flourist has health insurance) and as he was on the ground he saw Milton, who had abandoned licking his face like one of those cats that can smell cancer, was dragging Eliot's abandoned coat across the dance floor and into some corner. The same one with the card in the pocket.

If we take a moment to consider a human soul weighs 23 grams, the soul of a 19 year old yorkie should weigh even less, and should not be able to carry Eliot's coat across the floor. 

“What the fuck?”

And he passed out again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAHAHAHA WHAT IS HAPPENING???? Sorry this took longer but I was preoccoupied with #MERICA celerations and work and I havent slept like at all or went to lie down even in 2 days so this is fun!! im not sure if it makes sense but what the hell??? Also Poppy just came to me like thsi???


	5. A Favour or a Debt, Maybe Neither?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> rom-com behaviour

“You know I don’t think I’ve ever had a boy literally fall for me before.”

“Fuck off.” because Q is on edge in a hospital, and he hates hospitals for like, all the reasons.

“No I’m serious! Very rarely does a boy stumble across the dancefloor screaming my name only to promptly fainted. Really quite romantic.”

“Look I’m really sorry this is all my fault and-”

“Hey, hey, I’m kidding. I was just bartending as a favor for a buddy of mine. No risk of getting fired or whatever. Now what was so important that you had to find me?”

Quentin briefly considered telling Eliot the truth. It certainly would have made things interesting, would also solidify all of Quentin's manic pixie dream-girl tendencies if Eliot were into that kind of thing. Certainly since Milton could _move_ _shit_ which was the closest thing to proof he’d ever got and-

“I uhh, don’t..remember! Don’t remember. Sorry!”

“Okay.” Eliot drawled glancing sideways. “That nurse said we should take you home and rest..”

“I can just call and Uber to my car.” Q stumbled, nearly tripling over an excited Milton. Guess Quentin would have to get him a bed or something. Sorry Mrs. Dursley for stealing your dog, but also your fault for spoiling him with attention.

“Oh hell no Q. My place is 2 minutes away, I'll keep an eye on you.”

“You don't have too..”

“Yup I do, move your ass.”

And that's how Quentin came to be in Elliot's apartment, the one thing about him that wasn't stereotypical.

It wasn't very big, but in this part of the city? Quentin supposed he didn't need to spend that much time there. Most of it seemed rather functional, bare bones. The exception was the centerpiece of the room, a monsterous velvet couch that sat square in the center. 

“Are you sure I can sleep here? Your couch seems too nice.”

“Your sleeping on the bed, but feel free to relax there while I make you food.”

“El..”

“Q, I owe you. Not many would grant me an “passive” aggressive bouquet quite as spectacular as yours. Not many would want to run the possibility of enduring the wrath of Bambi either.”

“I do worry about her you know.”

“As you should. She has a way with men.”

“I’m sure. If she could at least attempt to get you in line.”

“Low blow, now shut up while I make you pasta.”

“Can I go to the bathroom?”

“First door on the hall.”

So Quentin, as calm and collected as he could muster, found and closed the door slowly and softly, before absolutely losing his shit.

“Fucking hell Milton? Of all things  _ Milton _ ? Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.”

The puppy quipped in agreement and Q quickly leaned down to shush him. There was no telling if people could hear him now.

“Okay Milton, I don't expect you to understand, but we need to put a pin in this okay? Cause shit now  _ Julia  _ and..Go to the shop I'll be home in a jiff okay?.”

The dog just cocked his head, so Q rolled his eyes and just made a shoo-ing motion with his hands. He seemed to get it, and walked straight out a wall. Quentin had to take the liberty of a door, and thanked Fuck (Julia's personal term of endearment with the all-mighty) he was a  _ fantastic  _ compartimentalizer. 

“Are you adding Olive Oil to pasta sauce?”

“How else would you make it?”

“I usually just add the packet.”

“You mean the one that comes with Mac and Cheese?”

“Yeah?”

“I have so much to teach you about food. Now sit on the counter and look pretty.”, and Quentin did as he was told, liked it a bit more than he should have.

“I like your house.”

“Thanks. Maybe someday I'll get to see yours?”

“It's kinda a shithole. I only moved in a few months ago.”

“So your  _ really  _ new to town then.”

“Suppose, I've always moved around a lot though.”

“Military Dad or something?”

“No, he edits textbooks, but I think I attended a school in every borough.” He said absentminded counting on his fingers.

“That sounds like a story.”

“Sure is. I was so  _ very _ popular.”

“Well, me too, if it's in the way I think you're implying.”

“Kids suck.”

“Yeah, fuck em. We have better lives now anyway.”

Quentin nodded and smiled. He was glad Eliot didn't know him well enough to know he was lying.

“But Q, I have to know something. Why move to  _ Brakebills?” _

“Honestly?”

“No other way to put it.”

“I knew no one, nothing. 500 miles from home. Fresh start?”

_ Running away.. _

“Fresh Start. I had one of those too.”

“Is this the 5th date kind of thing?”

“Maybe, but I like you. However I think alcohol should be involved, so you like red or white?”

“White. Red reminds me too much of communion wine.” He said wrinkling up his nose.

“My kind of man, however I'll introduce you to a red that isn't that sacrilegious swill they serve on Sundays. Even if it was my poison of choice when I was like 15.”

“I assume there's a story there too.”

“Oh Baby, so so many.” Eliot said touch his cheek. Quentin was starting to think maybe he didn't look so stupid when he was blushing. They talked absentmindedly as Eliot cooked. Q thought it best to mention he probably shouldn’t be drinking, but Eliot didn’t seem to notice, or pretended like he didn’t. Q still stole a sip though, Eliot really did have the good stuff.

“Did Jared ever return? Or better yet the wife.”

“As much as I have a low-key death wish? It's still a low key one El.”

“Maybe we should go to a bridge on our first date.”

“Eliot!”

“What? It's  _ romantic _ .”

“Romantic huh?”

“Oh very romantic. We’ll be disgusting and PDA and make all the old chrisitan men feeding the ducks  _ deeply  _ uncomfortable.”

“Don’t say that! I’m the one who makes the bouquets for their graves you know.”

“Honestly, even better. Now sit down and eat your food.”

“You don’t tell me what to do.”

“Well, your under doctors orders, so yeah you do.”

“It’d be more fun if I didn’t.” Because Quentin has a minor concussion and just spent an evening with Poppy.

“Trust me, we’ll have fun. However I’d be oh so sad if you didn’t eat my food, cause you owe me.”

“I thought you owed me!”

“The foods your kickback, take it or leave it.”

Grinning like a fool, Quentin took his place at the table, which was too big for the room and was clearly used to taking abuse. Eliot served pasta with a fork  _ and  _ spoon, which was more culture than a medicated, concussed Quentin could handle at 4 am. Eliot seemed to find it palatable, until he realized he definitely had food poisoning from that sushi place.

“I'm sorry I should have warned you. I found a pebble in my California Roll once.”

“Less apologizing while I'm puking my guts out maybe?”

“Sorry. Oh shit uh, I’ll get you more water.”

Eliot eventually ended up drinking some sick concoction of a hangover cure that seemed to do the trick. It looked enough like barf Q was surprised it didn't make things worse. Quentin only puked once himself (in the sink mind you, he had manners) out of sympathy(?). Possibly vertigo. Eliot still ended up taking the couch, because that's the kind of person he is. While he was passed out Quentin had a quick but pleasant conversation with the lady next door on how to quit smoking. Apparently she’d been meaning too. She had a heart attack, offered him cookies she had no way of baking, he knew she would be moved on by morning. 

He was aware, or at least open to the possibility this wasn't a stupid crush anymore. This was the kind of crush one fears like death, irreplaceably and irreparably. One that's bound to end poorly, like every relationship he'd ever pursued. 

There was Sierra Folkner, the goth chick from long island who liked to hang out in graveyards. That ended right quick. Zoya Pupolyva, who was a russian exchange student who honestly may have been under the impression she was a mail order bride. Jackson Robbie, who taught him how to give a blowjob but never returned the favor. Quentin just considered that relationship to be final fuck you to all the nuns at his like, 4(5?) catholic schools though. Eliot was different.

When he woke up around 1pm, sunlight pouring in through the windows, he thought perhaps it was in poor taste, but went to close the blinds so he could sleep more. This was when he saw all the pictures on Eliot nightstand in the clear light of day.

_ Fucking Margo. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry about the gap i wrote a julia chapter and was really unhappy so decided to scrap it and focus on our boys instead. i went through a lot of drafts but this flows okay and i just need the plot to move along so..sorry?


	6. A President, A Priest, A Portal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which its obvious this is pretty much a good omens fic and i try rewriting the julia chapter for time million

“Hey can you scream a little louder? My supervisors going to be outside in like..10 minutes.”

“Please no I-”

“Fine, I’ll do it myself.”so Julia drenched him in lava once again, because that’s her day job as a demon. The following scream was adequate.

“God, what did I do to deserve this?”

“Nixon, your a politician! You should have known better.”

“I just wanted to help my country from the damn commies!”

“Mhn mhm. Watergate was a jolly good idea then. Besides I only tourture you when's there's other people around.”

“Why do-ah fuck the lava!”

“Sorry!”

Julia looked at her watch (which she had stolen from him--she invented cross dressing) rather impatiently before she realized he was still submerged. She pulled him up by his collar.

“Why do you only do it when your supervisors sound?”

“Well he’d be disappointed if your lucid enough to ask questions but you honestly seem more clueless than anything. And humans are complex creatures, character development, that kinda shit. I can hold resentment and sympathy for someone at the same time.”

“You're human?”

“More than anyone would like me to be.”

“But your a demon. Medusa!”

“I’m aware of the..snakier attributes. I prefer Julia.”

“But Julia’s a human name.”

“Really?”

“Yeah it’s a human name I have a cousin-” in and out of the lava he goes.

“You know what I find the true problem to be with men? Not all of them have a brain, but  _ all  _ of them have a _tongue_. That was sarcasm idiot.”

“I still deserve respect!”

Which was the exact moment Julia took to examine how she was in fact, not a perfect person. Person? She’d certainly done honorable things, and tried to be and benevolent as she could, however, while she was immortal, her patience was gone in a blink. 

Because Julia wasn't a  _ true _ fallen. She fell, but fell somewhere in the middle. When God planned on drowning the entire human race (which she'd grown quite attached to) in a flood, she was expected to assist. Or at the least sit idly by. Julia wasn't an idle sort of person.

She left Richard bubbling away and decided to tend to her new charge, whom had just been dropped off that morning. Hell dropped off charges in duct taped shoeboxes that were occasionally sealed with a my little pony sticker, because the demon higher ups are particularly proud of their invention of children's television programming as a way to annoy parents, or just give them permission to be disinterested.

She used her nails (which where filed to razor sharp points) to open up the box, and a priest came tumbling out.

“God have mercy.” 

“Fucking hell, I know you!”

“Almighty say it ain’t so!”

But, indeed so, because Julia knew this man. She would have no problem torturing him.

“Get back foul creature!”

Julia rolled her eyes, flashed her fangs at him, and went about dragging him to an unoccupied pit of sulfur.

“So Father Francis, finally moved on have we?”

“I beseech you!-”

“Yada yada can you cut the crap? We’ve _ literally  _ met before. New York, early 2000s? Ring any bells?”

He was sobbing now, because he was a pussy. “I want to go home, please send me back to earth!”

“Okay, how about this, you tried to fuck with my best friend, who by the way, was fucking 7! But you knew that, because you deserve to be here!”

“I am innocent in the eyes of the lord!”

“Yeah the almighty and I have had our disagreements. Pervy priests ain't one. I'll give you a choice though, hot or cold?”

“Get away from me devil woman!”

With a wave of her hand, she froze him solid. He kinda looked like Han Solo in carbonite. Either way, fuck Father Francis.

Julia took her human clothes in her fingers, which were now all but shreds. Her bra was the only thing fully intact, because hell believes in tourture, so the fire never did much too it. She secretly believed ‘Victoria’ was somewhere in the 8th circle.

Quentin had gotten her a T-shirt at Fillory and further movie premiere when he was 9 and she.. well, had lost count. She'd wanted him to feel wanted, so she miracled it would be a packed premiere. Unfortunately it worked a little too well and they couldn't get in. She tried? They still ended up passed out in his bed surrounded by marshmallows though, so not a total loss. She also popularized pirated movies around this time. She routinely miracles the fabric to fit her perfect.

She made things for Father Francis a little colder after thinking about that. She was honestly surprised he'd forgotten about her, or maybe he was a better actor than she was giving him credit for. 

Julia had just invented plastic recorders at the time, so they were finally starting to like her downstairs. Thus, benefits. She had taken something of a sabbatical, or at least the kind a demon took, which meant she was in her ‘true form’ in a PetSmart in Jersey, taking a fucking nap.

That's when a knotted haired, grubby handed little Quentin Coldwater peered into her cage.

_ Daddy daddy can I take her home! _

_ Curly Q she's a snake, she can bite. _

_ But she can make the scary faces go away. _

Now Julia could have just as easily slithered away and subject some other poor reptile to Quentins bedroom, that resembling freaking chernobyl.. which her boss had been responsible for. But she chose to go with it, which was fundamentally unlike her.

After the flood, and making her magical little land for the children of earth to run too (she never did learn what became of it) she focused on doing what she could, being not very much at all. She invented soap, Darwinian Evolution, seat belts, and helicopter parenting. Not necessarily in that order, and surely not all her work. This was all in secret of course, what little miracles he could sneak in between bouts of demonic possession or putting hexes on crops. Either way while her miracles where..appreciated? She was pretty shit at tackling impossible (very human) problems. After all, she wasn’t human then. She figured, I'll give the little boy a try. 

She was put up in his room and watched him play. Watched Father Francis try sneak in to watch him sleep (creepy as fuck) and threatnded to stick an umbrella up his ass in hell-- _ ooo that's an idea-- _ if he tried to pull that shit with a kid again. That was the first step. A whole lot of other steps came when she realized he  _ understood what she was saying _ , and she now had to answer for a precocious little boy with a  _ wildly  _ dirty vocabulary.

She used her nails (and a bit of her venom) to melt away at Father Franis’ ice block. It ended up looking like a lopsided dragon. She poked a tiny whole where is mouth was (it was a precise art, air would flow out, but not in) so whenever he screamed it sounded like it was spitting fire. She was so preoccupied she almost missed it.

“Julia?”

“Who the fuck are you?”  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this is going downhill! just know i really didn't intend for this to be anything more than a stupid flowershop AU when I started but i was on a weird (happy?)streak and now im in the low place agin and idk how to keep going but i wanna finish this one and keep the humor going so ik weird but if anyone has jokes or ideas comment them! or fan theories maybe!


	7. Hell Frozen Over

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi minor note! I changed the last line of last chapter so instead of julia seeing Quentin in hell, she sees a stranger. It just made everything flow a lot smoother, sorry i go into every one of these chapters blind! anyway...enjoy!
> 
> Quentin plays fetch, Margo is unimpressed

Now before we can explain the stranger in Hell, we must first examine the fact he didn’t die. This fact is all you need to know for now. For now, right now, in fact, in the flower shop, Quentin is confronting another peculiar person.

“Hi Quentin.”

“Hi Bambi.”

“So you finally figured that out huh? 

Quentin finally looked up from his arrangements, which were used to being far more spoiled, but he had a lot on his mind these days. 

“I’m not an _idiot_.”

“Huh, lifes full of surprises. I didn’t come here for that anyway. The weddings coming up, and I do still want the flowers.”

“You two really like fucking with each other don’t you.”

“Siblings, what can you say? And it is a _wedding_ , just not in the legal sense.”

“Usually legality is a part that's relevant.”

“I don’t think the law has ever concerned me.” She cooed while examining her nails, then started snickering, something about her relaxing. “Sorry it just sounded funny. But really, I do want a wedding, my kind of wedding though. No Elvis impersonator this time.”

“So Eliot wasn’t exaggerating about the  _ Vegas wedding  _ huh?”

“Oh he only knows what I told him, which honestly may be more than either of us remember. I think Josh may have a warrant out for his arrest.”

“The husband?”

“The husband.”

“Have you told him yet?”

“He knows of a  _ party. _ ” She said thoughtfully. "Little else. You can meet him if you want.”

“I don’t think he’s really my speed..”

“Oh lighten up. I know you own a flower shop but  _ Eliot’s  _ taking a liking to you so you can’t possibly be that dull. What does Eliot know?”

“About the wedding?”

“Does he know I know you, you know me?”

“No, because I figured he’d spin it into some sick sitcom plot where we pretend and I have to mess with you and  **God** why are you smiling?”

“Cause that gave me an idea.”

r“Most people just get a bouquet and leave you know.”

“Boring people with pissed of wives or dead relatives. What if I-”

“Nope, you could just talk like normal adults.”

“Honey I don’t think any of us qualifies as a “normal adult”. I’m a Sugar Baby and you perform backroom seances, but I'll try”

“You didn’t tell him thoose, did you?” Quentin said frantically.

“I didn’t want him knowing anything. I put together you were the ‘cute florist’. The wedding--which he totally found out about by the way--was half a scheme to get him to grow a pair and come back here. More orange lilllies. Which reminds me, what should I be expecting on my doorstep this time?”

“Oh, nothing. Unless he already..”

“Already what?”

“You have a fire extinguisher right? For like.. no reason.”

“I swear I’m going to kill him.”

“Long as it isn’t me.”

“Self preservationist, like that in man. However, would you actually want to come over tonight? Met people?”

“Is it like, a party?”

“No, it’s just a few friends. And actually a few, I wouldn’t surprise you. While you and Eliot are both so, so dense I don’t  _ actually  _ find you annoying or delusional. I’m not cruel unless you ask me to be.”

“Um, okay. That could be fun. Sure.”

“Lovely. The actual arrangements now if you have them?”

With a few award stumbles and mumbled apologies he pulled out his plants and samples. He’d actually put quite a bit of effort into them, possibly because Margo scared him just a little bit, and when he was 4, he learned how to skip rope from a member of Heaven’s Gate.

“So Quentin, there something special about flowers?”

“Julia always loved them, could make ‘em grow in ways you won’t believe. That’s why everything has a ribbon too. My Mom left when I was a kid but she had this prized ribbon drawer for holidays and stuff she left behind. Jules would sneak some for her pigtails.”

“My 'Moms' an asshole too, didn’t have a ribbon drawer though. I think my Dad did say she collected soy sauce packets. Different ones from every restaurant. I’m not sure how true that was actually, or if by making her sounds crazy it softened the blow of not having her there at all. My Dad did things like that. Anyhow, I don’t need them anymore.”

“You always need your family.”

“Your family yes, but your blood relatives can often hurl themselves into the sun.”

“I think that was supposed to be sincere.”

“I’m about 70% sure it was. Anything above 80 and hell freezes over.”

“I that'd be nice.”

“Me being sincere?”

“No, hell freezing over. Give everyone a break.”

“You mean the rapists and murders? They can deal.”

“No, the demons. They don’t choose to be there, they got cast out or stuck in contracts or well, died.”

“I don't think that's in the bible.”

“Bible doesn’t have all the answers. Very vague, the details are often most interesting.”

“I’ll keep that in mind when I’m wedding planning. Details really do make all the difference, how it works with everything I suppose. My line of work too.”

“Yeah..”

“And don’t pretend you're comfortable with it if your not. It turns away more guys than it attracts really.”

“No I mean, I was partially raised by a Drag Queen I could give less of a shit about that.”

“Drag Queen?” She said with raised eyebrows.

“Yeah, long story.”

“Tell me at the party. You can go ahead and order everything. Also because I know its what your thinking, no, I don’t have sex with them. Cute dog by the way.”

“Wait what?”

But she was already halfway out the door, presumably to let Quentin make up his mind about her. She carried an aura that told him she’d clearly been rejected before, and she carried on either because of passion or spite, a motivation he couldn’t quite place yet. This was all irelevant however, because it was indeed Milton who was sleeping under the counter.

“Milton she saw you.”

He cocked his head as if to say.  _ Yeah Dumbass I know, I also can’t understand you. _ Quentin cursed once again he didn’t speak dog, which should be far more tangible than talking to the dead.

Quentin hadn’t completely ignored Milton’s development, he mostly just didn’t know where to start. The best he could muster was a game of fetch. 

Quentin took a tennis ball he found moldy and smashed in the corner of a shed and rolled it right through Miltons face. One he actually got the memo, he was able to nudge it in different directions with far more force than he should be capable of. He hadn’t told Alice or Poppy or any of the other spirits he had actually taken a liking too, because much like Margo, he didn’t want to be cruel if he didn’t have to. As far as he could figure this was some epic cosmic fluke (much like his abilities were) and it would fade or fail and they’d be heartbroken, and Quentin would be drawing even more unwanted attention to himself. Spirits constantly screaming out to him for touch, it was more than he could handle, as he could barely handle it from the living. 

“Milton, odd question, how do you feel about a party?”  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I. WILL. FINISH. THIS. STORY. IF. IT. KILLS. ME!  
> Sorry fro minor edits but it really made everything run smoother. Also sorry its short and a bit all over the place, once a second dratf this it'll be better(knovk on wood). I have no beta, we die like men. Also please comment whatever they so make my day!


	8. Jokes Taken Horribly Literal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> josh, margo, and Q get high as a kite

It wasn’t that people looked at him odd when he walked through the door, I was that they didn’t,  _ not _ look at him odd.

Julia had dragged him to a few parties back in undergrad, but he was pretty sure that he looked just as awkward. Played out card tricks and stuttering. Now as a florist wandered into a party with a tiny (dead) dog in tow, people were unsure if they should coo over the puppy or call the cops. 

“Quentin, you came!”

“Hey Margo.” Q said exhaling a breath he was unaware he was holding. He never imagined Margos presence ever setting him at ease, but lives full of surprises.

“Eliot has work until a bit later, so hang out with me and Josh!”

“Oh you don't have too..”

“No Q please, I want someone inconsequential to help me people watch.” She fake pleaded, shyly taking her hair in her fingers 

“There's only like 10 people here.”

“Yes. A carefully cultivated list of people who hate each other but are impartial to me. So Josh and I smoke weed and watch. You can bring the dog too, why did you bring the dog?”

(Which by the way ,Quentin should be freaking the fuck out about the dog, however his life has been a cosmic clusterfuck up until this point. He is but a messy bunned protagonist and God is an emo 12 year old dealing with repressed issues by having him sold as as sex slave to one direction by his abusive single mother on Wattpad. Point is, Q is just going to wait this one out and see what happens.)

“The dog! I don’t really control what he does. He's uh.. a rescue?”

This was another question Margo hadn't cared to wait for an answer to, as she started dragging him by the wrist over to what looked like an oversized bean bag chair. The guy slouched over in it was attractive in a conventional way, but next to Margo felt.. dulled. He wasn't overweight but not skinny either, almost like he was trying his hardest to be mediocre.

“Hey, I'm Josh.”

_ The Husband _ .

Margo cuddled right up next to him, slotting herself in and ruffling a hand through his hair, which was curly, but not in the same way Eliots was.

“You must be ‘Cute Florist’?”

“Suppose I am.”

“Margos been raving about you man. Eliot too, but it's been more brooding..”

“-Don't spoil it for him!”

“Of course Babe. I'll let the two of them be dense and emotionally distant on their own time. You ready for tonight's entertainment Margs?”

“Oh but of course. Did you really manage to get Mr. And Mrs.  _ Jared with the foot-fetish _ in the same room?”

“Anything for you. You deserve it after the flowers. Which I hear _you_ were responsible for? At least second hand..”

“Oh sorry I didn't know..”

“Chill out dude, we actually framed the card oh  **God** we framed the card.”

“Oh this is really going to be fun then.”

“Most definitely. How did you manage to have  _ both  _ of them as clients?”

“Happens more often than you’d think.” She said, but it seemed more directed at Quentin.

“You don't think Jared will actually murder any of us do you?”

“Oh Q, you think Jared will be the one to murder? I've kept him on his knees for  _ years _ .”

“And the wife?” Josh asked.

“Allison? Yeah her too. Surprised she had the balls to divorce him at all. She didn't pay as well though, men tend to have loose pockets.”

“Hey!” Josh quipped.

“Difference is your a drug dealer, you actually  _ have _ money to  _ spend _ .”

“I'm not a drug dealer!”

“Don't spoil the fun! Look at Quentin's face!” Which was turning rather red.

“I grow and sell weed. Mostly medicinal, though I have my own..special varieties. I have this new strain, it should let us see other worlds! Samples on the house. Well on the house of you let me hold your dog.”

“Oh sure, I can roll it if you want.” He said while Josh busied himself with the puppy.

“Oh Q, more surprised by the minute with you.”

“I'm not that much of a prude you know.”

“Just a virgin then, oh well, get rolling.”

Which Quentin did, and he was actually rather good at it. Okay Julia had been rather good at it, but he was also a magician, which made it more fun.

“What are you doing?”

“Tricks.”

Most of them were rather simple. A catch, a flourish, appearances and disappearances. Magic was how he got through parties in high school. His signature trick was to throw a card and stick it straight into an apple that depending on the party was between a girls boobs or right on top of some jocks balls. It was the only thing Quentin brought to such affairs besides being a mutual punching bag, and the questionably hot Julia on his arm.

He finished the trick just as Margo opened her mouth to object, just to have an already lit joint almost fall out of it. She took a long drag before looking almost impressed.

“Not bad. I assume someone was very popular in junior high.”

“Oh very. Eyeliner and all. I made dreams of being a street magician once upon a time.”

“No wonder Eliot's friends with him.”Josh chuckled. Quentin wasn't sure which aspect of the conversation he was referring too.

“Thank Julia.”

“Okay Casper if you keep telling me things about this girl might have to invite her to be our third.”

“Gross.” Quentin said.

“Okay you cannot be with Eliot if your not at least a  _ little _ kinky. Do you at least have a picture of her?”

Quentin held up his phones screensaver.

“Okay you both look down about 9 teeth and 3 feet there Q.”

“Well we were 10.”

“A recent one, please?”

“Pretty please?” Josh added, taking another drag.

Quentin rolled his eyes and pulled up a picture he took of her at their favorite cafe. It was halloween, and she was dressed as an angel.

“Okay I know she's your best friend and all but she’s like, so hot.”

“Josh!”

“Oh, sorry wifey.”

“Well your not wrong..”

Quentin (Margo and Josh for that matter) were starting to feel warm and mushy inside, which was unexpected. They rolled with it, because the damage was already done.

“Guys can you leave Julia alone?”

“C’mon, doesn’t she at least visit you?”

“No.”

“Drama? In the life of a florist?”

“She's dead.”

“Oh.” the two of them said in unison. Quentin really hadn’t intended on being the buzzkill tonight. No matter, because the silence didn’t last for long, or a lot longer than expected based on how you frame it, because they were all plunged into darkness.

***

Quentin came to in a field, which was a peculiar way to start your day. He felt like an alien, admiring a particularly complex crop circle or looking for farmers to probe. 

“Hello?”

It didn’t echo, which was a symptom of wide open spaces. Ones which Quentin was not accustomed too, and he took that moment to consider how literal Josh's joke about ‘other worlds’ truly was. The evidence suggested the answer was, exceptionally.

He wandered about through the field, that rolled into sloppy hills with half baked intentions of ever really going anywhere. He almost stepped on a mole (shrew?) but it seemed to disappear the moment he came upon it.

As he walked, he came upon an apple tree.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ik this is short and low-key unfinsuhed but im posting a chapter a day damn it and well i actually prob wont for like 2 days cause i have a wp tourney (if like any of y'all are from irvine by cosmic conwinky-dink hmu) but yeah good ish cliff hanger if i dont finish the rest (which kinda desrves to be seperate anyway) but you find out why Margos a DonnaMatrix and Josh visits hell so fan theorys or commenst let'em roll bitches!!(haha what is life and we love my end credits voice v my writing onw lmao)


	9. The Whore, The Bastard, The Wife

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Margo and a Ghost have a chat about a witch and honorable intentions
> 
> EDIT: So Margo and Eliot are siblings in this universe. I know its a lot of deviations but it made the dynamic more intresting in my opnion and lets face it. its hardly the weirdest change I've made.

Margo was in a similar predicament to Quentin, which was to say such predicaments really weren't that similar at all. She wasn’t in a forgien land, she was in her home. At least, the part of her home that got the most use these days, and not alone.

“Who the fuck are you? And what are you doing in my house.”

The man looked shocked, dramatic. Almost mildly offended he was present at all. He was sat at the table, which was set in a rather elaborate spread of sandwiches, roasts, and puddings, very few of which she knew were real. She set it up that way. 

“You can see me?” He said.

“Okay you need to explain, now.”

The man dusted himself off and looked at hr uncomforatbly. “Oh, of course, I’m Hymen.”

Which, for the time being, she was going to give him a pass for.

“Okay,  _ Hymen, _ what are you doing here, where is everyone?” Margo said, her fingers dancing over her rape whistle.

“I think you're the one with explaining to do Margo.” Whose fingers busied themselves a bit more in the folds of her dress. They were now resting delicately on a can of mace.

After a beat of silence, the man rolled his eyes and looked like he was going to spit on her, deciding she was perhaps to dense to understand him. He bent over like he was talking to a child, smug and juvenile.

“Bambi, it’s what he calls you isn't it? You shouldn’t be able to see me.” He said with the slightest surprise.

“Well I see you, I think your dick is the thing that's microscopic though.” Which low hanging fruit for Margo, and she realized after the fact she was out of power here, in her own home, so she should maybe be a bit more polite. So she shook it off with a well mannered smile.

“No, I’m invisible, I’m a ghost. Your on a different plane of existence, my plane of existence.”

“Uh huh, and I’m Queen Victoria.”

“She’s actually a bit of a cunt.”

“What?”

“We got zozzed in Athens once, I thought she was a ‘canceled stamp’ but man, what a sheba.. Stupid girl though, didn’t even have come to visit me. Oh well, cheers to the beyond, moved on, and the whores!” The man said taking a sip out of his flute. Margo didn’t even attempt to parse through any of that, and hopefully he got the memo she wouldn’t be trying too.

“Okay, ghost? Why are you in my house?”

“Because it’s also mine.”

“Yours how?”

“I’m giving you the courtesy of an answer, so please play nice you little bearcat. This was my home, I still live here.”

“I believe I rented it from a lady named Prudence but sure, maybe you lived here one upon a time. Thanks for keeping the original floors.”

“They were an ugly thing when this home was built. Funny the things you children choose tp value.”

“I’m not a child.”

“I have a century or so on you. I would think you are.”

“No need to be witty.” Margo huffed.

“True, but it's far more fun. Would you care to sit?”

“It’s my table..” She muttered before joining him.

“It’s a pretty spread you made. Shows you could have made something better of yourself. An honest woman.”

“Many have said as such. I tend to change their minds.”

“By getting them on their knees?”

“Sometimes.”

“And you think they see you different? Even I can see how small you are, and we’ve never spoken a word. I’ve only watched you.”

“You realize how fucked that sounds right?”

“Once that was romantic. Watching.”

“You also believed masturbating would make you go blind and give you syphilis. Your name is also _Hymen_. Seriously who names a kid Hymen?”

“My mother.” He said confused.

“Right. But you’ve been watching me? On your “plane of existence” or whatever?”

“I like your story. You and Josh and your brother. It was a nice story to watch. I watch everyone who lives here.”

“So you’ve been treating me like a program? Jerking off to Josh and I?”

He didn’t answer that one, just looked  _ very vaguely  _ guilty. “What i’m saying is, is you get bored. For 100 years I’ve been able to see the occasionally ghost passing by but what am I talking about? The things we can’t touch, the people we can’t have? The times I haven’t lived through? I found stories to watch. Yours particularly.”

“So your not the only ghost..why are you the only ghost  _ here  _ then? Billions have people have died since the dawn of time. Dinosaurs and shit. You should all be falling off each other.”

“We move on.”

“Like to an afterlife.”

“It’s what I gather.”

“Then why stay on earth at all?”

“I don’t quite think anyones gotten that far, but my guess is some combination of vengeance and paperwork. Something really can be said for the human spirit, in both examples. Now the exciting bit. How did you end up with Josh of all people?”

“Wait what?”

“Josh, your husband. Perhaps not since your a Jezebel..but he's something close. You have much wealthier options. Smarter, handsomer..”

“You didn’t marry for love did you?”

He waved his hands around and said, “Annabeth was sweet, but we never married. My uncle ran a very profitable business selling repoulshered chandeliers. I died before we could even touch.” He said gazing rith through Margo.

“I’m going to chalk up the fact you just implied you were going to marry your cousin to old timey bullshit but maybe don’t judge me for loving him. I know he’s simple, but you don’t need trauma to have depth. To be a 3 dimensional person. He’s just..kind.”

“How does he love you then? You think he’s too stupid to know what your truly like?”

“No. And I’m not too damaged. I like who I am now.”

“A whore?”

“You’ve really gotta cool it with that. You know I never have sex with them.”

“No, you don’t your even more intimate.”

“Because I punish them when they ask? Go on fake dates with lonely people? Some find it honorable.”

“You go on fake dates with  _ vulnerable _ people. You pretend you love them and let them come home to these beautiful spreads in these perfect rooms they wish they had. When you can barley make your  _ husband _ a lean cuisine. Your desperate for power you stupid girl. A blind man could see it. When you get those men on their knees, spank them and degrade them, its like your looking in a mirror.”

“Maybe you can choose not to assume everything about me after watching me for a few years.”

“I could, but a story needs to start somewhere. I have a brother and sister who don’t look alike, a simpleton, and now a mystery. Forgive my assumptions, though I never could figure out if you or Eliot was the bastard.”

“Step siblings, since we where 10 so no I was not a fucking bastard. Josh is smarter than you would believe. He invents things, new strains and recipes. Just because you disapprove doesn't mean you have to discredit and disrespect everything we’ve ever done- I don’t even know why I’m defending myself Jesus”

“You like talking, I picked up on that.”

“Like everything else in my damn life apparently!”

“Language.”

“Fuck you.”

“Thought you were against that kind of thing.” He drawled. “So if your not going to tell me how you found Josh or who Eliot is to you, I might as well tell  _ you _ about Quentin.”

“Your really gonna tell me about Eliot’s crush.”

“Crush?”

Margo rolled her eyes. “Eliot’s totally platonic macho manly guy friend that he meets up with to talk about fucking girls and rub raw streaks on himslef with. They aren’t gay or nothing.”

Hymen seemed, weirdly satisfied with that answer and continued. “He saw me before you did. I suspect he’s also the reason you are here with me now.”

“You mean Quentin's Ouija rip-off he’s got going in his back room? Seriously implying he’s the kid from the sixth sense.”

“Yes?”

“You mean to say he can see the dead.”

“Yes! He’s a witch.”

“I got that too. But I automatically assume most religious people are crazy so I don’t discriminate which one they follow. Maybe that makes me like my father, but I like to think not.”

“Your father hurt Eliot yes? To follow God and men.”

“We don’t like to talk about it.”

“But you have plenty of time.”

“Fine! My dad was an asshole to Eliot, fucked him up. He was proud, hardworker. Wanted to beat the pussy out of him. Then his Mom was an asshole to me, we were both black sheep in the family. Happy? Now back to the witch.”

“Ah, the witch. He has a rat instead of a cat.”

“The yorkie?” Hymen just cocked his head. “It’s actually a dog but.. Call it whatever it's pretty old and small.”

“Fine, him and his Dog, his dead dog. He comes to my house with a dead dog and casts a spell on you.”

“You mean his magic tricks? I think that was just a symptom of a lonely childhood..”

“There’s something about him, he’s powerful, and it’s real. I’ve tried contacting you before, but nothing works, he doesn’t even have to try!”

“So what are you saying?”

“I’m saying..” He leaned and close to her and with a tight berath, “I think he’s a demon.”

“A Demon.” Margo said unimpressed, because for some reason this was the line to be crossed to fall over into tangible lunacy. “The kid just has a crush. He’s reading kids books whenever I walk into the shop. A flower shop I might add.”

“I’m telling you, something isn’t right. I traveled over oceans to see the most powerful psychics, and many before me tried as well. None are like him.”

“I’ll keep that in mind then. Put holy water in his plant mister or something.”

“You’ll regret not listening to me Margo.”

“I have a feeling I’ll regret a lot in the morning.”

The man looked scorned and disappointed, a look that did little to evoke her anymore, ad waved her away. For some reason she listened, and was enveloped by a the black expanse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi so between my longer than intened time out of town (like 4 days instead of 2) and this scene being hard as shit to wote just, hope its fine? i intened on like asnering more mysteries but like, kinda handed you some more so, sorry? FIRST DRAFT PEOPLE.Just want to have a 'finsihed' story. Anyway please comment your thoughts or theories!


	10. Offense Taken to Tater Tots is Often More Easily Swallowed Than Sibling Rivalry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quentin has a good time, Eliot (attempts) opening up, sibling antics, tater tots, and yes were adopting the child and his silly dog.
> 
> EDIT: Margo and Eliot are from Nevada for no other reason than I want them to storm Area 51 at some point and might as well pretend I have narrative threads

Quentin was in the middle of a very pleasant fever dream when Eliot found him. He had been observing Margos animated closed eyed conversation (none of the words coming out of her mouth made any sense) and Josh who was _still smoking_ , leaving Quentin seriously concerned if this was his tolerance. 

“Hi.” Quentin giggled. “You came to see me?”

“I'm kinda wondering what your doing here? This is.. Margo's house?”

“Mhm hm. I know her. She's pretty and she scares me.”

“Yeah, she tends to have that effect.”

“I smoked weed and I feel really funny.”

“ _Josh_ tends to have that effect. How much did you have?”

“Enough to _really_ not know what I'm saying right now. I want food.”

“You want food?”

“Yeah. Do you want food?”

“I could go for something.”

They tried calling a pizza place, but Quentin was terribly useless and Eliot _wasn't exactly sober_ either. Even if they knew the number Quentin couldn’t even recall his password. They settled for drunk cooking, cause like hell anyone at this party was going to question it.

“I saw Fillory! It was amazing!”

“Sure Babe, I'm sure it was.”

“No really. Look where an Elf bit me!” Quentin said producing his forearm, which was now sorting a noticeable welt.

“I think that's a bug bite?”

Quentin huffed and crossed his arms like a child. He was tetering the line between sobering up and falling back into obscurity. In layman's terms this means word vomit, sweaty palms, and occasionally (ha!), he forgets to explain himself.

“No it was an elf. He looked like those ones on the cookies, right Alice?”

‘Quentin you can’t talk to me in front of him.” She whispered.

“Now who are you?” Eliot said.

_Well shit._ That sobered him up. Sorta. Not really.

“Alice, she’s my friend.” Quentin said waving his hands.

“Do you know my sister?”

Alice just stood, mouth agape, before actually _running away_. She bumped into a wall she was used to float right through and then stumbled out the door into the party.

“Should I go after her?” Eliot said. “She looked a bit.. out of it.”

“She’s fine, she can't drink?” 

“What about her clothes then?” _This is all going to be a very long winded conversation isn't it._

“She's.. a stripper? They wear costumes right?”

Which thankfully Eliot didn’t question with words. Just a glance of (fond?) concern. Quentin hosted himself into the counter and looked pretty, because that's the way things were, and even sober he usually wasn’t trusted with a stove.

“So Eliot, how was work? Margo said you where at work.”

“Fine I suppose. Mostly rich assholes. Not quite sure why I went into a profession where I’d be constantly confronting look alikes of my step dad but, I like wine. Some dude had a fucking eyepatch though.”

“An eyepatch?”

“An eyepatch. I wrote an extra zero or three on his receipt and he didn't seem to notice. I’ll take us out sometime with it.”

Quentin just hummed happily and looked at a lamp with unmatched certainty and prose, despite even more recent devolpments. Surely there was a fairy playing under it.

***

Eliot wasn’t entirely sure what he was doing here. Sure, there was the obvious.

Margo and Josh were some of the only people he actually cared about, even that relationship sounded casually fucked when you put it down on paper. His step-sister who’s father kicked him out was coincidentally psychoanalyzed, bullied, and indoctrinated by _his_ mom, and the other way around. Josh, who would occasionally buy wine from him when he needed to impress frat guys with before overcharging them, who said sister fell in love with. It was a thing.

Then there were less obvious _things_ . Namely a cute florist Eliot had not so subtly been pining over who was now suddenly at this rather exclusive party _at Margo's house_ which um, was unexpected. He rambled about Fillory which Eliot was **never** going to admit he had read since the last time he had seen him. It was a weird fucking book.

“I think that I could get the elves to help us cook!”

_Jesus Christ._

Fillory and Further, apparently, was the story of some British kids shipped off during the Blitz who wander through a clock and into a magical world. The allusions weren’t subtle and based on Quentin's reaction the author was definitely on some shit when he wrote it. Seriously, Quentin was now talking about a horse the size of a house. It was a thing.

“So Quentin, how's the shop doing?”

“It’s almost Prom seasson, so many fucking corsages.”

“It has to be sweet though. And you can overcharge them.”

Quentin rumpled up his face in a way that made Eliot felt as if he’d said something wrong until he went back to drunken giggles. “You know I fainted at my prom.”

“That honestly doesn't surprise me.”

“Yeah! And Julia wanted to go in the ambulance but they wouldn’t let her so I just had Poppy with me. She thought the driver was really cute.”

“Julia as in the store Julia?”

“Yeah! Store Julia!”

“Why didn’t she go with you? Usually they would let your girlfriend go with you.”

Quentin had already started talking by the time Eliot got to girlfriend, so it looked like tonight would be full of a lot of not so subtle hints.

“Yeah! I wasn’t scared without her though, I was in lots before.”

“Well um, she sounds like a good friend.”

He snickered. “People always liked Julia. She could just put a spell on them you know! I was so bad at it. I got my first girlfriend because she wanted my employee discount at hot topic.”

“You worked at hot topic?”

Quentin looked him dead in the eye and said. “I have a dangerous past.” Before laughing again. 

Eliot rolled his eyes and started parsing through Margos fridge. It was well stocked with my occasional fake items for decor to hide unlabeled leftovers. She did a lot of cooking whole meatloafs or birds to present to “clients” as part of the whole playing house gig she had going. He'd promised her he'd let her come to her own conclusions on _why_ she did it, despite like most things in their lives they always knew the answers to each other's problems first. These days that got harder.

“You still haven't told me where your from.”

“Thought we'd agreed that was a fifth date conversation.”

“Well are we dating?”

_Shit he's blunt_.

“No, did you think we were?”

“No.” And back on his merry way. Eliot was terrible at mixed signals, so, so much worse at blatantly obvious ones. “I'm from Nevada.”

“Wasn't so hard was it?”

_Why am I telling you this?_

_“_ Guess not. Not as bad as actual Satan’s dick-pit Nevada.”

“Meaning hot as hell or emotional bullshit.”

“Yes?”

“Good enough for me. I still want food.”

“You really don't have a filter so you?”

And Quentin, who seems to have forgotten how to be offended, or maybe just so used to insults it didn't phase him anymore, simply responded. “No?” ..high off his ass Quentin is _truly_ a gift.

“Any luck making friends in town since I last saw you?”

“A dog.”

“A dog?”

“A dog.”

“The one Josh is currently making out with?”

“It's a clever thing, miraculous little dog.”

“I never like dogs, I might like yours. Why did you get a dog?”

“He came to me, and he's special. You're not cooking. I’m doing cooking now.”

“What?”

“Out of my way pretty boy, I’m making the Coldwater special!”

Eliot could only watch in mild horror as Quentin ransacked the kitchen. It looked intentional, but even then, he couldn’t say. Once he started putting shit in a waffle iron Eliot was about to go absolutely feral.

“You are not putting tater tots in a waffle iron right now.”

“It's way easier, and less to clean.”

“It’s also a waffle iron.”

“Yeah, hash browns. This is practically how we made them at Chick-fil-a.”

“You know your insane right?”

“Trust me it’ll be good.”..and Eliot was served a potato waffle wrapped in a paper towel. Quentin doesn't believe in dishware that isn’t disposable. Eliot tore a chunk and put it in his mouth, Quentin folded it up like a taco.

“I would say I told you so..”

“Okay I get it, I get it!”, because damn it, it wasn’t half bad.

“There is a reason..shit I think I actually got fired from Chick-fil-a. I was an employee of the month at Scoops Ahoy though! Even if I lost a fingernail to an ice cream scoop.”

The little dog had abandoned Josh’s face and had returned once again to Q’s side. It was an ugly little dog. Eliot threw a tater tot at it, which it ruefully ignored.

“Your dog likes you.”

“He does. Hes a stupid, furry little bastard man.” Quentin said throwing another tater tot at it. “Wanna play a game?”

“Like Twister or something?”

“I feel like I drank truth serum. More like truth or dare. ”

“You know that sounds rather juvenile. I could just find a nice wine pairing for..tater tots instead.”

“Two truths and a lie?”

“Your relentless.”

“Get Margo and Josh, Paranoia!”

“How about twenty questions or something, I don’t feel like moving.” Eliot said flopping onto one of the dining room chairs. The little dog hopped up into his lap and was staring at him with empty eyes.

“Are you and Margo like, blood related?” Quentin asked wincing, because it’s a hard question to ask without looking like an asshole.

“No. My Mom married her Dad when we were about 10. Why do you like Fillory so much?”

“Not sure really. I think I read it as a kid but I picked it up after Julia’s accident and it just made sense. Seems quiet there. If you could pick a decade to live in, which one would you pick?”

“2020s.”

“Why?”

“The past kinda sucked ass, apart from maybe the parties. One can hope the futures an improvement. Do you lie if it saves other people.”

“Certainly. Favorite painting?”

“Mona Lisa? I don’t know, I’m not particularly into art.”

“Me neither.” Which told Eliot Quentins answer to the previous question was undoubtedly true. He made a mental note.

“How do you know my sister?”

“You weren’t egregiously subtle now where you? There’s only so many flower shops off route 17.”

“Suppose, and it’s a good thing she likes you. I told her my ex died so she wouldn’t kill him herself.”

“Oddly fitting, though I never had siblings, so I wouldn’t know.”

“If she wasn’t your girlfriend, I was going to assume Julia was your sister.”

“She practically is, albeit not by blood. But I suppose if you and Margo or siblings Julia and I were too. Though it would make it creepier she was my Prom date.”

“So you dated?”

“No, it was simply due to the fact..” He said taking the time to look at Eliot in the eye before laughing.” That no one liked me.”

“I’m sure your exaggerating.”

“Untrue my friend! I was officially excommunicated twice!”

“Jesus what did you do give a blowjob under the altar?”

“No something far more selacious that Alice and Poppy will murder me gentley for getting into.”

“Alice like that chick from before? Your friends with her?”

“Something along those lines.” like he too was confused by the words coming out of his mouth. “Do you believe in ghosts?”

“I can’t say that I do.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t think God believes in second chances for anything.”

“Is that bleak or poetic?” Quentin said resting his head on the table.

“Bit of both?”

Eliot continued his prostatic monologue for somewhere between half a minute and four before realizing Quentin was softly snoring against the table. It made him look childish, which Eliot supposed so much of him already was. He flung and arm around his shoulder and dragged him, depositing his near corpse ‘gently’ on Margos sofa. She was closer to lucid than he expected he to be, murmuring light protest as he nudged her off to one side.

“You found your boy I see?”

“He’s not my boy.”

“Your boring.”

Eliot went to light a blunt before Margo grabbed his wrist.

“Not a great idea, josh and I had some weird fucking trips.”

“Weird as in fun?”

“Weird as in I talked to a dead sexist pervert and Josh hallucinated that one's dead girlfriend.”

“Who?”

“Julia?”

“Shit.”

“You didn’t know?”

“He didn’t mention it. Best not to bring it up again I suppose. I feel guilty now, I was kinda interrogating him about it.”

“Remorse? My brother? It’s more likely than you think!”

“Bitch.”

“Bastard.”

“Condom commercial.”

“I’ll give you props for that one.”

“I do my best work when I’m sober.(Which Eliot most definitely wasn’t, but at this point Margo no longer possessed the ability to definitively tell). Now gimme.”

“Thought we agreed you would get you shit together huh?”

“Margo, it a party!”

She handed him a bottle and he wanted to punch her when he realized it was just flat club soda. Because she worships anarchy.

“Don’t say I have no sense of decorum. I gave you a drink from the bar!”

“Your lucky I didn’t kill you in the womb.”

“Did we forget who’s older for a minute there?”

“Fuck you.”

“I think that’s illegal in most states.”

“Fuck. You sure I shouldn’t take a hit of your miracle weed?”

“Positive. Now perhaps you should get some sleep. Your gonna have to nurse a few hangovers tomorrow morning.”

“Why exactly?”

“Because you love me.”

“Deep deep down, I feel _something_.”

“And you have your boyfriend.” Eliot started to open his mouth, and Margo gave him a trying look. “Just don't ghost him like you do everyone else. I like this one.”

“So are we adopting him?”

“Mhn hmn. I call the social worker in the morning.”

“Yeah you do that.”

But she was already asleep, bevacause Margo could hold the record for that kind of thing. Eliot fell soon after, into a dreamless sleep.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I fucking finished it! finally! sorry it a bit all over the place but i am trying real hard to find the balence with an ensemble cast, and none of this is influeced by my previous work expirence at all lmso. also if anyone has the link to san deigo comic con magicians panel send e the link and ill love you forever. also i finished stranger things because i have proprties and Robins everything


	11. Lets Have a Kiki

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's have a kiki bitches

“Quentin! Quentin!”

“What Alice?” Quentin said mumbling awake, his head throbbing.

“We need to leave at once!.”

Quentin pulled himself upright, nearly knocking Margo off the couch in the process.

“Thought we had a deal yeah Alice? You guys don’t control my life anymore, that's why we left New York. Mind you _you_ weren’t even invited to Brakebills so you can kindly fuck off.” And he buried his head back into the side of the couch. Alice did that puzzled little angry face that still managed to force some sense of endearment from him. Her little button nose scrunching up like a disgusted cartoon character.

“Quentin we haven’t the time to discuss this here. I know you tend to ignore it but you can’t deny these happenings! Eliot _saw me_ flesh and blood and Milton knocked over one of the displays-”

“Damn the workplace harassment apology arrangements?”

“Irrelevant! You need to come with me. Poppys already at the apartment with Milton and you maybe we need to call Fogg-”

“Fuck no.”

“But he helped us before!”

“You mean took advantage of me and practically forced me to run away cause of all the trouble he caused!”

Margo was just starting to grunt awake, Alice usually wouldn’t take much mind, but was now trembling in fear.

“Just come home soon as you can okay?” And she ran off, her feet clicking against the floor. That was new.

“Did someone just run off?” Margo said, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes.

“Maybe. I like, just woke up.”

The two of them forced themselves into less comfortable positions for the sake of politeness and reduction of double chins before continuing.

“Sorry if you had a bad trip. Josh can get carried away.”

“It was nice actually. The other worlds stuff was no exaggeration.”

“Yeah no shit Sherlock. What happened to you Q?”

“I saw Fillory, like actual Fillory.”

“Like Fillory and Further?”

“You know it?”

“I read it as a kid, can't give you the details at gunpoint though. My _Mother_ wasn't a fan of such things.” She said rolling her eyes.

“How about you then?”

“A ghost. A rather peculiar ghost.”

“Pray tell.”

Margo snorted before continuing. “He was a bit of a sexist dick. I'm sure you get lots of them.”

“You get them above ground too.”

“You really think you need to tell _me_ that?”

“Fair enough.”

“Anyways. His name was Hymen. Died like a century ago. Bit of a stalker, judgier than those pricks on what not to wear.”

“Said he's been watching you? That he's simply bored and perfectly innocent?”

“I'm thinking your less of a scam artist by the second Coldwater. He wanted to give me a warning. He warned me about you.”

“Why?” Quentin said, genuinely puzzled.

“Said you were a demon.” She said with a completely straight face.

“No?”

She started laughing again, still sounding a little drunk. It woke Eliot, who was slumped over dead silent on a plush leather chair.

“Do you guys know what time it is?”

“Early?”

He glanced down at his phone, “7:06 AM. What requires my presence at this ungodly hour”

“Maybe breakfast?” Margo said.

“It's your turn. I cooked last Sunday.”

“Yeah but if I cook you never eat,”

“At least your better than Q.”

“Hey!”

Eliot looked at Margo dramatically. “He cooks in a waffle iron instead of an oven.”

“I told you, my apartment sucks!”

Quentin lives in an apartment above the flower shop. The ceilings weren't really made to accommodate anyone over 5’3 but at least he had good wifi.

“Then it requires a makeover. Still, I'm not cooking. Does Josh have any of his Magic Muffins left?”

“Hell no.” Quentin said, the pain behind his eyes screaming at him to go back to sleep.

“Not _Magic_ , just delicious. They're very rarely _magic_ magic.” Eliot explained

“I think he might be out for the count till around noon. talked to him before he passed out, he's not used to trips surprising him.”

Eliot shot Bambi a look of alarm, her face did something he couldn't place, and then she shot Quentin an easy smile.

“It was like, weird, scary maybe, for him. He might talk to you about it, I don't know.”

“That's.. fine, I guess.” Quentin said.

“Anyway, we at least have bagels, I can manage bagels. Who's going to get up?” Margo said.

Crickets.

“Apparently I have to compensate for all our mommy issues today. Usually I get _paid_ to play house.” And Margo got up to retrieve things from the kitchen.

“Hey.” Eliot said softly. “You sure your okay?”

“Why wouldn't I be?”

_Fucking internal screaming_

“I just, I don't know, last night might have been weird and were friends and I don't want it to be weird..”

_What in the ever living fuck are you talking about._

“I'm fine!” Quentin said a little to enthusiastically. -- _What are you talking about it was awkward--_ “Really I'm fine, I might have to leave soon though.”

“Why?”

“The flower shop? It's Monday.”

“Oh shit, your totally right.” Eliot said with his eyes toward the floor.

“You can come over later though.”

“Really?”

“Yeah I just have to wrap up some stuff.”

So Quentin took his bagel to go, and was about to overthink a relationship he wasn't even in then _murder_ a couple of ghosts.

***

“I hereby call this kiki to order!” Poppy said slamming an imaginary gavel.

“You guys are seriously not staging a fucking intervention right now.”

Poppy, Alice, and Milton were all around his couch, Quentin in the solitary chair as they all faced him.

“Honey buns, we love you, but there's some wild shit going on.”

“I never told _you_ anything.”

“Q, subtly ain't your strong suit. Or Milton can't keep a secret.” She sad looking at the dog, who starred up quizzically before running if to his little dog bed.

“We really need to change that fuckers name.” Poppy murmured. “Now onto business. What. The. Fuck.”

“We had a fluke okay!”

“Not a fluke!” Alice interrupted.

“No Ally, celestial level fluke, like all of this is!”

“Get your head out of your ass Quentin.” Alice spat. “First this dog is seen by a whole party of people, he can move things! You get arfarfan’arf-ed and then I’m bumping into walls! How are you so calm right now! Why are you laughing!”

“I’m sorry!” Quentin wheezed. “But this is all insane! It’s completely batshit insane!”

“Quentin focus _please_.” Poppy pleaded.

“Why should I? Poppy we ran away for a reason! To get away from the bullshit.”

“And yet you still contact the dead.”

“I don’t summon them, it’s just whoevers following the poor bastards who come into the store. No one I wouldn’t be forced to interact with anyway! It’s not like home, and I don’t want it to be! No more seeking them out!”

“Don’t be selfish.” Alice said.

“Selfish! You want to talk about selfish! You're asking me to ruin my life only a few months after it started! Who was it who convinced me to do the documentary huh?”

_We will now take a brief intermission to explain at least_ **_one_ ** _of Quentins double lives._

Quentin Coldwater was born halfway on the subway, but got to the hospital in time for insurance to still charge them. Later, at that hospital, he would be diagnosed with one of the worlds most severe cases of childhood schizophrenia. After several years of being doped up, shipped off, hospitalized, kicked out of school, to simply repeat the process, a plan was made at age 9. Don’t talk to spirits you don’t know, cause it’s a two way mirror system--ghosts can't tell when you can see them-- and let Julia scare off the ones you do, with very limited exceptions. (Alice, Poppy, Harriet). He lived a tourtured, semi-normal existance. It worked all the way up until Julia’s accident, which Quentin doesn’t like to think about.

He needed a place to live and money for college, so he went looking for quick cash. His medical binder--most have folders-- landed him with an intriguing engagement. A ‘doctor’ named Henry Fogg handed him a contract for a TLC documentary series on past lives, spirits, and the divine. Basically wander around the city talking to the dead without discretion or reprieve, and perform a seance on Jerry Springer.

One can guess how it went.

Of course he was the only coo-coo they hired who was actually legit, but in the (literal) underground community, news of his ‘gifts’ spread like wildfire. Spirits came to him at all hours screaming for attention, because even in death people are still pretentious and entitled, and of course he went a little mad. So he ran away, where not a spirit would know him and come asking for revenge or favors, to a nothing town called Brakebills with (according to wikipedia) a shockingly low cohort of people over 65. Perfection. Back to the story now, Eveyones still fighting.

“We know the documentary was a mistake! We're sorry for that but the magic box people still gave us food and money and-”

“Made my life a fucking freak show!”

“Q..” Poppy said softly.

“No seriously! Even if the ghosts stayed quiet I was recognized how many times in the damn street! They thought I was crazy before!”

“But they won't now!” Alice said. “With this, with proof!”

“I'll be back where I started. Who cares anymore.”

“Julia.”

“You don't get to say that Alice.”

“She was _our_ friend too. So was Harriet before she moved on. We could get them back, we _know_ where they ended up."

“Screw you.” Quentin said, he stood up and pushed Alice away from him. He was surprised to see it carry weight, her knocking over a mug on the coffee table. She pushed him back, just a little, and Quentin was forced to take a step backward.

“Doesn't matter what you think of us.” Poppy said. “What matters is you use this, fluke or not, for good. Or at least get it under control.”

“Since when are you in Alice's side for anything! You wanted me to get a life, I'm building one, here, now, no exceptions.”

“And we want that for you.” Alice says. “But you're behaving like a child, your powers are out of control.”

As Alice dusted herself off and Poppy laid her head in her hands, Quentin cocked his head. Poppy opened her mouth to speak, but there was only silence. Quentin started wide eyed for a moment at what he'd done, before he realized it wasn't a fluke.

Quentin snapped his fingers, and Alice and Poppy were lifted off the ground. They looked back at him with fear.

“You wanted me to get control over them right?”

He let go of whatever was holding them, the girls dropping to the floor, causing all the loose objects in the apartment to rattle with the impact. They were breathing heavily and Poppy started coughing.

"We know you didn't mean that." Poppy said.

“We agreed Beakebills was going to be different yeah? So how about you guys find someone else to haunt for a week, and I can be with my friends or go on a date or whatever without some disgruntled lover or cowboy or cancer patient over my shoulder. I don't care if I'm being selfish, it's not a crime to want a normal life.”

They both looked like they wanted to offer protest, but there was something softer too. These weren't strangers, they knew how much he wanted to do things like fall in love or make his bouquets. Or maybe they were good actors. Nothing like this had even happened before.

“Have fun with Eliot.” Poppy said, with just a tint of acid before she caught herself. “And you know who to call if things get saucy.”

“Dear _God.”_

“I don't things Gods involved Honey. C’mon Ally, let's go watch Hamilton or something.”

“You guys said you wouldn't until I could afford a ticket!”

“Tough shit Winchester. Now get that Booty!”

“Margos probably going to be there too.”

“And probably won't object.”

“Poppy! Alice nudged.

“Like you aren’t as investing in this relationship as I am!”

They started bickering, as they often did, and Quentin had to pull them away from each other.

“Okay Okay!” Poppy said. “But Coldwater.”

“What?”

“I love you like a Mother, but you don’t pull that shit again.” and Alice nodded in agreement.

“I won’t. Fresh starts remember?”

They gave him a look that was so brief he didn’t have the time to parse through it. There was genuine concern there, they cared for him, but there was something knew. The way his powers affected them now. He could push, _but they could push back._

They walked through the wall, hesitant it would work anymore, and off to..Quentin doesn’t even know anymore. Then he was left with Milton, who Quentin had grown indifferent to at this point, standing impatiently by a food bowl.

“Stupid dog.” and Milton ran up to him and started nipping at his heels. Quentin picked him up and held him in front of his face. “Do you think I made a mistake?” The dog didn’t answer. “Maybe best not to think about it.”

Eliot and Margo were due to stop by in a few hours, so Quentin opened up the shop, sold flowers, worked on Margo's wedding order, and frantically threw all the crap in his apartment into closets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short and sweet i wrote at work today before my life gets crazy again! I just felt Quentins powers needed to be adressed some more. IK these explainations are kinda weird but the problem with posting chapter by chapter is i cant really alter whats already 'canon'. anyway hope you had fun even though its a bit darker, but this is basically a tradgey told through comedy, been that way for awhile. next chapter is apartment makeover gee!!!


	12. IKEA and Refreshingly Domestic Fantasies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gang hits up IKEA cause I'm procrastinating plot and then adding more narrrtive threads for me to tie up later cause I hate myself.
> 
> Also you ever look at all your chapter titles and wonder, what in the high holy fuck am i doing?

Never let it be said that good things can't last, even if for a brief, beautiful moment.  This brief beautiful moment was the moment  _ before _ Eliot and Margo arrived at Quentin's apartment. He had no fucking clue how their parents delt with them as kids.

  
"Guys I don't need a tablecloth!"   
  


"Obviously you need a table first." Eliot said exasperated.   
  


"Or a bookshelf, these piles make you look like an old recluse who collects newspapers." Margo added.   
  


" It's not that bad!"   
  


Eliot grabbed him by the shoulders and looked into his eyes, making Quentins heart skip a beat.   
  


"Quentin, my love."   
  


"Yes?" Quentin said with pleading eyes.   
  


"You are completely, and  _ utterly _ , hopeless"   
  


Quentin blushed and flipped him off, Margo smirking, egging him on. He shot her a quick look and she stuck her tongue out at him from behind Eliot's back.   
  


"But serious Q,” Eliot said. “Your 20, you own your own business, your unabashed about every other aspect of your life, why not this?”

“I felt lazy?”

“It's cute when he lies.” Margo said leaning over Eliot's shoulder. “Even though the state of his linens indicate this is at least a little true.”

“I'm not lying I just, like, haven't ever done this before.”

“Decorate? Clearly.” Eliot jokes.

“No, live alone I guess. My last apartment was with Julia.”

A beat of silence. Margo touched his hand and Eliot shuffled awkwardly. They were each other's Quentin and Julia, and very clearly understood that. This is another occasion where Quentin  _ really _ hadn't intended on being the buzzkill.

“You know what!” Eliot said. “This is just an opportunity!” And looked to Margo for help.

“He's right Q. This apartment is all yours, you just need to figure out what your style is! And at least buy you a damn microwave.”

“Anything but the waffle iron.”

“It's basically a griddle!”

No, no it's not.” Eliot chastised. This was when they loaded into Quentins 1998 Prius.

“Why the _fuck_ do you have a rubber fish on your dash.”

“It's my robber repellent! They see that and think no way does he have any shit worth stealing!”

“Seriously how does your brain work..”

Quentin was relieved when Margo, the stellar navigator who caused Quentin to miss 3 turns because she got her lefts and rights mixed up, told him to pull into an IKEA.

“I was honestly expecting something far more..”

“Avant-garde? Posh? Q we start with the basics, cause you sleep on a Futon.”

And Quentin had given up on defending his life choices at this point.

It felt like a cavern or lair of some child eating monster. That was if such entities believed in fluorescent light bulbs, but he wasn't going to judge the kraken for being ergonomic. He was a native New Yorker, so he wasn't used to such things overwhelming him. As Margo would put it, perhaps it was the  _ choice _ that was the overwhelming part.

“Where do we even start.”

“It's and IKEA.” Eliot drawled. “There is no beginning or end, it is simply a state of being.”

“What?”

“We get you a bed Q, it's just fucking sad.”

They walked through fake living rooms and toilets that went nowhere. They watched security drag out a guy trying to take a shit in one of those toilets that lead to nowhere. Children knocked over trash cans and Quentin picked up a lamp Eliot insisted on because his apartment relies on ancient, busy, recess lighting. It was green, because color was important for some reason, but not everything could match. When they came upon the mattresses, Quentin was ashamed to admit he was a bit winded, especially since Margo was doing this in heels.

“Behold, those things that grown ups sleep on!”

“El be nice!” Margo said punching him. Eliot punched her right back.

“Is this a me thing?”

“Sibling thing.” They said in unison, and Quentin noted how creepy how alike their voices were when they would fight. For a second he thought they would continue on with their day. Then Eliot pulled Margo's hair and she started trying to yanked his arm off. He felt and empty weight at his side, he wasn't used to being alone, or at least in the sense he was used to, in the real world. The only conscience he had to deal with was his own. Was this the kind of thing you spoke up against?

“I'm, stop?”

“One second Q!” Margo chirped. “Cuntscab.”

“Ass Clown.”

“Cheesedick.”

“Poo-poo head.”

The two of them looked at each other for a very intense moment before laughing, and Quentin joined in, everyone jostling each other. People looked at them funny, but they were just annoyed. Annoyed, Quentin could deal with. He welcomed it. People were laughing and everyone else could tell why. It was weirdly exposing in a way he hadn't known since the accident.

“Okay okay.” Eliot said wiping a tear from his eye. “Now we should actually get some stuff done before they kick us out.”

“But being kicked out  _ would  _ be more fun.” Margo mused.

“I've always wanted to jump on the bed.”

“What?” Margo laughed.

“It's stupid..”

“Contrary!” Eliot said. “It sounds like just the right amount of crazy for this lot.”

“We can't actually.”

“But we can.” Margo drawled, climbing up onto a mattress rather seductively. A soccer mom looked at her weird and she winked right back.

“Come on Q, we could stand to break the rules.” Eliot said flopping in it himself. His tone seriously implying he had no intention of breaking them.

“While your fantasy is refreshing Q, it’s still sickeningly domestic for my taste”

“I think it was an episode of glee.” Eliot mused.

“Motherfucker if it was you would be quoting it verbatim.” Margo jabbed.

“You like glee?” 

“I was baby gay in 2009, let me live! And they sang jump..”

Margo and Quentin started giggling as they all cuddled on a bed that lurched under their weight. Margo sat upright between the two of them. It was astounding how much of a part of this family he felt. Quentin came up to meet her eyes.

“Are we actually going to do it?” Margo said.

It was from a girl in therapy (who believed she was pregnant with the next Jesus Christ) Quentin got what he felt like was the one  _ genuine _ compliment of his life. You are inexplicably self aware, and it’s up to you to decide how you handle that. 

He started jumping on the bed.

“Quentin what the fuck are you doing?”

“What I said I was going to do.” He replied smugly. Being aware of yourself means shit when you don’t care who's watching. Margo kicked off her shoes and joined him.

“You two idiots are going to get us kicked out!” Eliot hissed.

“And?”’Quentin said, feeling unbelievably cocky.

“And! You can put anything after that and!” Eliot said as Quentin revved up and leap from one mattress to another. Another followed.

“You two  _ children _ need to get down right now! Aren’t we supposed to be giving Quentin a grown up makeover?”

Quentin leaned over and took Eliot’s hands in his, both of them a little starry eyed. When he was off guard Quentin, despite being considerably smaller, pulled Eliot up and he fell straight on top of him. Panic washed over Eliot’s face as Quentin laughed at him, and Margo was now jumping near their heads. Quentin pushed Eliot up off him and grabbed his shoulder before he could escape.

“Come on El, jump!”

Eliot, in a losing battle with Quentins smile, did the thing Quentin had done many times over. Thrown caution to the wind. People were starting to stare, and a pair of young children had joined them a few mattresses over. Their overweight mother was screaming in a shrill voice, face tomato red from embarrassment. Margo subtly stuck her tongue out at her. She’d been called a bad influence enough times.

“You are such an idiot.” Eliot smiled.

“Idiots are often happier you know.”

They bounced until they got out of breath and all stumbled onto the mattress they’d started out on, Quentin sandwiched between the two of them. He decided this was the one he liked best, and perhaps he  _ could  _ abandon his nomadic principles and finally set that futon on fire.

“You need to leave.” A buff security officer stood in front of them. Clearly unamused. “If you don’t I will have to force you.”

Eliot kept laughing (crying?) and Margo seemed genuinely scared as they all caught their breath.. Quentin looked him in the eyes. “You can leave now. My friends and I are having fun.”

His eyes looked vacant and glossed over for a second. He smiled with a cocked head (a smile didn’t suit him) and he walked out of the room and straight on til morning. Eliot and Margo stared at him, but Quentin just shrugged. It occurred to him this wasn’t a fluke, a stroke of luck, it was a manifestation of what Alice and Poppy were warning him about. What he couldn’t manifest was the ability to give a shit, or really even feel guilty for it. Lucky for him, Eliot and Margo, after half a second's hesitation, seemed to come to the same conclusion. For now at least.

“Okay we should actually buy something now.” Eliot said still staring at the ceiling, his hand brushing barley against Quentins.

“Probably at least the bed.” Quentin said.

“And sheets!” Margo quipped. “I know he won’t get them if we don’t.”

“Your making me sound like an invalid, I do take responsibility you know. I own a business?”

“That profits off of my explicit tourture.”

“It’s not tourture!” Eliot groaned.

“You set Josh’s gnomes on fire!”

“That was an accident!”

Being self aware has certain consequences. Not caring about the consequences somehow leaves you with less, or that's at least what Quentin thought. “Okay, we check out, then can we go to frozen yogurt or something?”

“Sure Q.” Margo said inserting herself into his side. “I might take a quick nap first, your warm.”

“In an IKEA? That’s a bit trashy Margo.”

“Oh like people call me classy. Most think I tickle hairy old man balls for a living.”  She noticed a kid walking by, lollipop hanging far out of his mouth. She mouthed a quick boo and he moved along, or at least averted his eyes. “My fucking point. I’ll take you to frozen yogurt though.”

“We took his car Margs.” Eliot said.

“Well I’ll take off my jacket and it’ll be free. If anything he owes _us_ for getting him out of the house long enough to get a bed.”

Margo and Eliot where laughing with each other, Quentin placid and content when someone walked in front of him, someone Margo and Eliot couldn’t see. He looked to be a teenager, no more than 15 or 16. He was covered in blood. He looked at Eliot, angry with tears in his eyes. Spit on him. Quentin pretended he couldn’t see him, as he often did with the angry ones. The ghost walked away soon as he came. Quentin's yogurt made him feel sick to his stomach. He didn’t feel like laughing when Margo found out he had joined an organization of Yeti hunters in 2011, a sticker that still sat proudly on his bumper. It was getting harder to be apathetic about all this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi Junior Olympics wanted to FUCKING KILL ME so this took forver and I kept editing it over and over and over. I still sounds a bit forced just because I always have a tough time with Eliot? Anyway I want to try include Logan, cause while this is kinda orginal fiction I still want to stay true to the show, at least while it's still in the fandom. Hope you enjoyed still and please comment your theories on Qs growing ablities, the couples, or general thoughts, and I love to know how I can improve! Thanks again!


	13. A Stoner And A Demon With Mutual Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> julia and josh have a chat

A lot has happened recently, in the life of Quentin Coldwater. Even more is about to happen, the candidate is unlikely.

“Are you sure you two will be okay on your own? Coldwater won’t burn the house down?” Margo said from Josh’s lap.

“I think that’s Eliot's move not his.”

“I’m right here!”

“And still owing me 60 bucks for my custom Elvis gnome you fucking melted!”

“How did you spend 60 hard earned dollars on a gnome?”

“How did you-”

“Boys behave!”

Margo needed a wedding dress, and while Quentin was practically her little brother at this point (lovely little cocktail of chemistry and the fact they all spent  _ entirely _ too much time together) however she did not trust him to be within 75 feet of the store. Something about his flannels ‘poisoning the aura’. If it made any difference Josh was in the same boat.

“You and El go babe. You don’t want to miss your appointment.”

She kissed Josh on the way out and for a brief moment Quentin considered kissing Eliot the same way, cause all this pinning was getting a bit dull. He didn’t, because despite Eliot’s front he’s still cripplingly shy and would probably have an aneurysm. Oh well, to dream.

“So Q, you want a beer or something? I got cupcakes too, special and less special.”

Josh was an interesting case.

_ How _ Margo and Josh fell in love was a story he hadn't managed to pry out of either of them yet, though he suspected its possible they aren't entirely sure themselves. He was painfully laid back, had a deep affinity for weed and Parena bread, and most importantly was weirdly skittish around Quentin. Usually Margo and Eliot were there to soften the blow.

“I’m good.”

“I’m getting you a cupcake anyway.”

Which Quentin was secretly hoping he’d say, because Josh  _ was _ a damn good baker. He was handed a peanut butter dream that helped fill the void of kisses he wasn’t getting.

Quentin started. “So are you excited for the wedd--”

“I have to tell you something.”

***

Stories are rarely told in order. Making exceptions is for pussies and the aesthetically challenged. Somewhere in hell, while a demon was torturing a priest; a man wandered to where no mortal soul had ever dared traveled without being invited. 

“Julia?”

“Who the fuck are you?”

“My names uh, Josh. I’m here in accident.”

“No shit Sherlock.”

“You didn’t have snake eyes in your picture.”

The woman in front of him was undoubtedly the girl from Quentins pictures, apart from of course the snake eyes. And the roller blades. And the 6 inch nails. He would be declining to comment on the setting. She gave him the same look Margo does when he forgets to put the toilet seat down.

“I'm not _really_ sure!" He sai putting his hands up. "I was with Margo and Quentin and..”

“Quentin!”

“Yeah Quentin.”

The girl (who was shorter than he was) grabbed him by the shoulders, and started making more of an effort. Her eyes turned a warm brown, and freckles started to pop up over the bridge of her nose. Human.

“He’s safe right? God he’s not dead he can’t be dead.” She started stuttering. “How long has it even been..”

“He’s safe! I think. We're smoking, then black and now.. Here.”

“Is he with you? I need to see him. Is he old? He can’t be old yet.”

“He’s like 20? 21? I mostly just heard about him from Margo and Eliot.”

“Come with me.”

“What?”

“I’m not getting caught this time.”

***

_ Holy(?) Shit! Motherfucking shit!” _

Julia lead.. _ Josh _ into her back room. It was made for stealth, the walls adorned with CW posters and a pile of aggressively gendered children's toys by the door. Demons would walk right past it. She still burnt the guys clothes a bit for good measure though.

“Okay, now tell me about Quentin.

“My girlfriend, Margo. Her brother had a crush on him so we tried setting them up and had this party and then Margo, Q and I decided to smoke some weed..”

_Poppy said she'd keep him away from drugs.._ “Motherfucker.”

“What?”

“Keep going.”

“Yeah I uh, invented this new strain. It was supposed to let us see other worlds but it might have gone to far?

“Shit.”

Josh didn’t say anything, like she supposed he was meant to. He put out a quick fire at his feet, and eventually gave up on the landscaping while Julia quelled her anxiety. Many things. It had only been a couple of years on earth, Quentin had a crush (finally), and he was doing drugs. Motherfucker.

“Okay Josh, I’m going to explain some things very quickly okay, and your going to have to pretend to trust me until you actually do. Got it?Good-hold your questions is the end! Okay this is hell, I’m a Demon, my name is Julia. Though I didn’t so much as _ fall  _ as saunter vaguely downwards. I don’t kill puppies or leak nuclear launch codes I mostly try to fix things or cause minor inconveniences. Quentin is my best friend and he can see the dead.”

“That parts real!”

“He told you you!”  _ What has gotten into him. _

“He does some..seance ouija shit I just thought he had questionable morals!”

“Fucking hell okay! He has like a second sight, can see different planes of reality. The dead, mainly. He was still so little I didn’t try to hone his powers at all because I didn’t want him getting hurt but if your here.. Shit shit shit!”

“You gotta tell me what you mean, he took me here?”

“His powers can go on the fritz sometimes, but nothing like this. I bet you it’s Poppys fault..”

“Who?”

“Irrelevant. Is there an easy way to break to you the fact you were sorta accidentally transported to another dimension?”

“But you can fix it.”

“Yeah I’ll just zap you back. Click your heels three times and your home!”

“Was that a Wizard of Oz reference?”

“Judy Garland stabbed a bitch with a fork, I met her at TGI Mondays once. You'll probably just go back on your own. Again irrelevant!”

“Which part?”

“None?”

Of the many interactions in Julia’s existence, she would have to call this one of the stranger ones, and she once took Asmodeus to a gay bar on Ottawa because they ‘had the best Chili in town’ in 1987. Also, during that time in Uruguay..off topic. Now let’s straighten a few things out. Josh is also hearing this part of the story, but his interjections prove more taxing than their worth to listen to, so Julia’s talking over them.

Quentin can look between different layers of reality, cause realities all layered up, like that chocolate monstrosity at the Cheesecake factory. Somehow, while high as a fucking kite, Quentin was able to bend reality, and travel between the layers. Him and Margo ended up God knows, Josh in hell, with her. This means his powers are growing, which they really,  _ really _ shouldn’t be. There's only one other place she had ever heard of something like this, and she really,  _ really _ , didn’t want it to be true. Julia was starting to get the strange feeling her time was running out, she told Josh what she could.

“Josh, listen. I’m not sure how much you will remember when you get back, but you have to get a message to Quentin. He needs to find a book, prophecies. Something of a doomsday instructable.”

“Why?”

“Remember what we said about saving our questions for the end? He’ll know what it is, Harriet was working on finding it, I don't know if she ever did, or on which plane she did. He should summon her. If he can bend reality, he should be able to get through to her.”

“Where is she?”

“Down the hall. Tends to happen when you get shot by the FBI.”

“Are you sure I  _ want _ to be summoning her.”

“She’s really a sweetheart, crocheted like a motherfucker.”

“Okay I’ll--”

It didn’t take long for him to fade away, but then again everything down here felt like a blip, a split second. Confrontation with monotonous, torturous eternity tends to have that effect.Things were different on earth, back when she was assigned there. Then she died, an impressive feat in the immortal community. Accidents have a way like that.

Julia walked over to a mirror, cause hell was covered in them, and observed herself. Her eyes were brown now, they matched Quentins, and would fade in a few hours. Julia elected to roll away.

***

“Wow, that’s.. A lot.”

“I was convinced I just hallucinated but I couldn’t get it out of my head you know? So I just had to tell you.”

“She’s still human? Still looks human?”

“Yeah but, roller blades?”

“Part snake, she can’t really walk for shit. Easier to roll. But seriously Harriet? She moved on when I was 14!”

“Moved on? What the shit man.”

“Ghosts. Heaven and hell have their differences so they love to argue, sometimes cases get backed up and bam, hauntings. Just call Eliot and Margo?”

“You really want to tell them about this, it kinda makes you sound..”

“Like a total schizo? Yeah I’ve gotten that.” Quentin said quickly gathering his things. Fucking  _ Julia. _ “Meet me at the flower shop in an hour, wear black.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thought i left what happened in hell as a cliffhanger long enough! im also planning more reality bending (possibly romantic ;)) endevors! im gonna gay it up real soon cause my parents are saying homosexuality is just a trend like learning disablities and once they're medicated they will turn normal. hahahahaha to be 17 and gay lmao (i cri) anyways comment your suggestions and fan theories i love improving and they are super motivating!!


	14. Seances Are A Tricky Busniess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> short and sweet, unironically became something of a finale fix it.

The complete Bible was published in 1611 by a rich white man, which was no surprise to anybody. The part most people aren’t familiar with, is what they left out. We all know how the Europeans felt about witches, even though their books tended to be a hell of a lot more accurate.

“Quentin what the hell are you on about?”

“Josh will fill you in.”

“Why are you getting out your candles and shit I don’t want to get cursed. Josh?” Margo said.

Josh just shrugged and went back to helping Quentin set up, which was proving to be more of a setback than a favor, but he wasn't planning in pointing it out. “Look I know it's weird guys but I trust him.”

“The hell did y'all take when we were gone.” Eloit said getting is Quentin's face to check his pupils. He swatted him away.

“Nothing look.. Milton?”

“Why are you calling your dog?”

“Cause he's dead.”

“What do you mean he's  _ dead _ ?”

“Dead as a doornail. Ghost. Phantom. I'm helping you see him by bending the planes of reality.”

Eliot and Margo looked at him like he was crazy, his current shittty plan for convincing them wouldn't help. Quentin grabbed a ritualistic knife from the table.

“What the fuck Q!” Eliot said trying to reach for it. Quentin beat him to it. He stabbed the knife right through Milton and into the floor. He stood happily tapping and panting for a moment before choosing to go to his water bowl.

“See, dead.”

“Could have warned us dude!” Josh said high and breathy. Quentin muttered a quick apology.

Quentin had already taken the car ride here to consider all the reasons this was a bad idea. This was like the disappointment, surprise, and outlandish expectations of losing your virginity dialed to 11...with potential legal consequences. Margo seemed rightly terrified, but also a little smug and excitement that she had been right. Eliot…

“Wait that Alice chick? Was she dead too?”

“1823.”

“Okay Sabrina I didn't need the details but just what the fuck?”

“I'm sorry El I know it's all batshit but this is important. I'll do whatever Julia says.”

“If she's dead then show her too us then!”

“I can't.”

“Then how do I know your not insane! That this all isn't just some grandiose delusion!”

“El calm down.” Margo said holding him back.

Frustrated, angry tears were starting to come to his eyes. “How the fuck so I stay calm when ghost are  _ real _ and he can see them! He can see..”

“Shit.” Margo and Josh said in quiet unison.

“Wait..did you murder that kid?”

***

Eliot's life had just gotten more complicated than usual.

Here he was, in the backroom of a flower shop, about to perform some kind of Voo-doo ritual. Nothing like finding out your secret crush can  _ see the dead _ , and you have a couple, _ literal  _ skeletons in the closet. This morning he was worried about falling for a straight boy..

“You haven't talked to him have you?” Eliot asked tentatively.

“No. I saw him. What did he get hit by a train?”

“Yeah that's, Logan.”

Margo quickly pulled him aside while Josh and Q shared worried glances.The was a partition in the corner and they ducked behind with worried whispers. 

Margo took a deep breath, “He's legit.”

“Margo he's probably crazy let's  _ leave _ .”

“I trust Josh, and weird shits been happening ever since we became friends.”

“All the more reason to _ go home _ .”

“And have Logan haunt you for the rest of time? Let this dimension jumping shit get the best of us!”

“That dream you had..on the drugs. You believe him don’t you.”

“I talked to one of the gals at the party. She said all three of us disappeared, and came back. We traveled somewhere, and what're the chances all our hallucinations line up? And what's the dog then a fucking hologram!”

“Margo I can't.”

“Buck up. We're going to help him, and your not going to deny you care. Kapesh?”

“Uhh..” Margo dragged him back into the open before he could respond. No turning back now. Margo gave Q and Josh a knowing nod before continuing, a circle of candles were lit around them with a Harry Potter wand lighter.

“Seriously Q?” Josh said.

“No point to a seance if the aesthetics are shit. I was going to assume you didn’t kill him by the way.”

“Thanks?”

Quentin was weirdly calm about _everything_ it seemed. For all he knew Quentins brain was working overtime with anxiety to compensate for his demeanor. Either way if it weren’t for the accent Eliot would have pegged him as a beach kid. One that was about to Cedric Diggory this bitch and wouldn’t be taking the time to really explain himself.

“So what are we doing exactly?” Josh said.

Quentin, annoyed with having to explain himself,imparted his wisdom, with many missing pages.

That bible,  _ the  _ bible is woefully incomplete. Partially inaccurate, witches wrote the rest, both because of magic, and because women tend not to exaggerate as much as men do. The book, the missing book, had several copies that were all burned by insane fundementalists on a break from killing 13 year olds over lemon juice abortions and interilized homophobia. One copy, a single copy remained in print by 1400, because it was once mistaken for a pronography by a dyslexic eygtpian lybrarian, thus not stored where it was meant to be, and survived. People lost track after that. Nothing but rumors, many doubt it even exists. Harriet believed.

“Wait is this bitch the reason you were such a klepto?”

“She hears you curse she might wring your neck El.”

“Got it, proceed.”

Harriet was a mayor's daughter in Neitherland (home of the countries lowest ranked airport), which is a town you wish you hadn’t heard of if you ever have. The mayor didn’t run all that much, a mob did.

Now mob is strong choice of words, especially since Q grew up Russian in New York, he knew what a real mob looked like, but the title earns you a certain respect. They were about freedom of information,  _ vaguely. _ This is simply described as the robin hood mentality, so they didn’t have a whole lotta respect for things like museums or safety deposit boxes. Harriet caught on quick, and set her sights on the rarest of texts. The Witches Bible: Revelations and Revisions on the End of Days. She got caught for robbing the federal reserve first.

“So we plan on summoning a dead mobster criminal in hopes she found a lost book of the bible on the astral plane to explain why your kid from the sixth sense?” Margo said. Quentin nodded. “And to think I thought the flourist would be boring.”

“Babe I don’t think we get boring.” Josh added pulling her in for a quick peck. Eliot sat both attempting to absorb information and being jealous. 

“Sometimes I don’t think boring would be so bad.” Quentin said softly. Eliot was the only one to hear.

“Me neither Q.”

Quentin looked up at him silently, his hands matted in his sweater. He wore his emotions boldy across his face, something Eliot didn’t do. Above all he looked scared. Scared of what he was doing yes, more scared he would be doing it alone. Eliot hated he couldn’t say with confidence he wouldn’t be. 

“So what do we need to do Q-bert.” Josh said. Quentin wrinkled his nose at the new nickname. 

“Not much, it just helps to have someone pull me back.”

“From where.”

“Eliot, Margo, your west coast kids right? I’m gonna assume Josh too.”

“Yeah why is  _ that  _ relevant?” Eliot said.

“Was one of you a lifeguard maybe?

“Why?” Because Quentin exasperates him. He rolled his eyes at Eliots annoyance, perhaps because of the whole “I'm choosing to ignore a dead body” tabackle.

“I went to Junior Vet camp.” Josh chimed in.

“You know what close enough. Just know I've only ever tried this once.” Quentin said.

“The faith you instill in us is boundless.”

“Okay Josh, this is Adrenaline.” Quentin said producing what was probably a stolen epi pen. “Inject it if this takes longer than an hour. M, you do it if he pussys out.”

“Why would we need to inject you Quentin.” Margo said, with as much alarm as should be allowed.

“Seances? Tricky business. I'm going to access the spirit realm, but from a different angle. I should be able to find where Harriet moved on to and bring her back.”

“Like we did on the drugs?”

“Sorta. Be honest I can't really explain the drugs. This  _ works _ though. My therapist would be so proud!”

“I know it's kinda your move to like.. never explain nothing but fucking explain Q.” Margo said stepping close to him.

Q took a strong swig of a drink, his eyes got glazed over the second it touched his tongue. “For part of it, I might have to be legally dead. See you in an hour, toodles!”

“Fucking toodles!”

He had already collapsed in Eliot's arms.

_ Fuck _

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ayy the finale fix it had found me! Also v good omens rn, took evrything in me not to just write agnes nutter. wrote this real quick to move the story along, though i feel i might regret that later, let me know if theres any cute free day prompts anybody wants me to use as a filler chapter or somethin! Please comment it keeps me motivated to finish, and i left you on a hell of a cliffhanger, Toodles!


	15. Found Family and Furbies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'll let you draw your own conclusions from the chapter title

Quentin came to in an indoor swimming pool, the air stinging his eyes. He took a step, barefoot, towards the water. Just being near it made his skin crawl. This was After, after _ life _ that is. Before the pearly gates, you had something of a reverse baptism. Vaguely a sin calculator, gets you where you need to go.

“Hello?”

“Everyone does that you know.”

Quentin whipped around. There was a man there, in an old fashioned white bathing suit that looked like a wrestling outfit. He was resting indelicately on a bright pink pool float, and Quentin couldn’t get a good look at his face, despite nothing being there to cover it.

“Everyone says hello in empty rooms like someones gonna answer. They  _ expec _ t an answer, then they get spooked when I do.” and the man took a long slurping sip of a Margarita. “You however, I didn’t expect to see back so soon.”

“I gave you 2 years.”

“I’m immortal. I’ve have shits that have taken longer.”

“Well Peter, your saint-ship, or something. You know what I’m here for.”

“Julia again? Or someone new? Finally get a girlfriend?”

“There's a guy I like, very shy though. Also living”

“Only you could love men and women alike, and still die alone.”

“Bit harsh.”

“No shit, we’re at the gates of the afterlife kid, and I don’t send a whole lot of people upstairs these days. You are also dead.”

“ _ Legally  _ dead. I don’t plan on staying. I plan on leaving. It’s simple if you don’t argue with me.”

“I learned my lesson last time Quentin, you know how to talk to someone's ear off. If I hear another argument from you I’ll do something less than saintly. Least tell me you got someone to wake your sorry ass up out of the coma.”

“My friends.”

“Can’t wait to meet that lot, but all of you will probably be through here before I can say..goodbye! Anyhow, I’m sending you on your way then?”

“To Harriet. I’ll find our way back.”

“Your ballsy Coldwater, I’ll give you that much.”

“Something I’m not sure your boss would appreciate.”

“Well sometimes he needs something to surprise him.”

Quentin jumped into the water, feet first, of course. He belly flopped the first time round, hurt like a bitch.

Now while Quentin floats to the bottom and passes between realities you might want to know the details Quentins leaving out. Last time he was here was  _ wildly _ dangerous attempt to find Julia after the accident. Just before he could find her, he woke up strapped to a bed getting his stomach pumped. Not worth the trip to psych or broken hearts.

He crawled out on the other side, his eyes burning from the water. He coughed and sputtered until he caught his breath, and walked out. This part of the world was different than Fillory, it was dark.

When your dead everything is inverted, and it’s like a constant itch you need to scratch but can beer quite reach. It aches in your chest and snakes up your bones. The world is as you know it to be, but your just barely kept from falling through the floor. 

The first time had been Poppy’s _ idea _ . She’d seen her old friends overdose, walk around for a bit, until a hefty dose of Narcan reeled them in. Will give Poppy some credit though, she did slap him after he actually went through with it. You got through the Gates with Saint Peter, a feat he'd accomplished last time initially by making his case.. then listing all the fun facts he knew about beavers until Peter was so distracted by the sudden quiet Quentin hopped right through and got  _ super _ fucking lost in the afterlife. He didn’t recall much, though he ended up in a bowling alley.

He found himself now, in a prison cell. Harriet’s, for a time. He’d been here before, after Harriet told him about her last days, mainly through nitpicking orange is the new black. He joined one of these inherently creepy and unhealthy prison pen pal websites to get someone to let him on the visitation list. It was stupid idea that didn’t teach him all that much. The room crackled with the electricity of her. He looked around, saw another passerby through the windows. They didn’t speak. He pulled a partition, and saw the electric chair.

“Quentin?”

“Harriet!”

He pulled her in for a hug, which was odd. 

Now we have been ignoring Quentins gross neglect of his well being for..a while. He killed himself in front of his crush..not his best pick up line.  _ So _ your acceptance of things like, I duno  _ risk _ , when your friends are all dead, becomes pretty fucking squewed. His logic for not coming back brain damaged is ‘Well my brain is traveling, so nothing can happen to it’. However returning to the hug, Quentin has never touched Harriet, who was a mother to him, ever before. He thought it odd he even tried. Maybe there was something good to hanging around the living.

She was strapped to the chair with leather restraints, and was frantically trying to sign something to him. We can mention that Harriet is also deaf. She can speak, read lips some, but over the years Quentin had gotten pretty badass at ASL, even if it was a bit rusty.

Quentin backed away from her so she could speak, just in time to escape the shock.

It rocked through her entire body and left her smelling like bitter toast. She twitched through the aftershocks until she could finally open her eyes. She tried signing too him, but her hands were shaking and wouldn’t cooperate.

“Harriet Harriet, I came here to take you away. I’m not dead I’m not trapped here with you.” Quentin signed.

Exasperated she choked on her words. “Julia?”

“Something happened, but I’m going to get her back too. We need to go now.” He said fiddling with her straps. He was horrified to find they were fused seamlessly with her skin.

“Leave Q! Home! Now!”

“Not without you.  _ Everyones _ getting out of here.”

***

“Your kidding me, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me!” Margo exclaimed.

“Yeah no shit babe he’s fucking dead.”

“He’s not dead.” Eliot said weakly.

“Well check the counter he just had like-- 14 Ambien.”

For the past several minutes, Margo, Eliot, and Josh, have been collectively losing their shit. A vase knocked itself over.

“Quentin!”

Quentin still lay deathly still on the couch, but a pile of books chose to follow suit.

“What the fuck is happening!” Josh said.

“Like I know!”

“He’s your fucking boyfriend.”

“And you two saw the ghosts and shit! Just someone call and ambulence or fucking inject him!”

Things were flying off the shelves now and Eliot took Margo under his arm. A loud bang could be heard against the exposed metal piping, and Josh went over to investigate. He called them over, and there was a lone wobbling table. On it sat a Oujia board and a butterscotch candle.

“Q? What are you trying to say!” Josh shouted into oblivion. Eliot could somehow sense Quentin rolling his eyes.

**W-A-K-E H-I-M U-P**

“That’s Quentin Josh fucking inject him already!”

“I-I, I can’t! Margo you do it!” He said throwing it in her direction, she didn’t catch it.

“Fuck it.”

Eliot picked up the needle, and stuck it right into Quentins heart. He felt a crack as he did so, and Quentin, after a few tension filled moments, shot upright with a gasp.

Margo muttered something incoherent through tears, or maybe it was Josh, he couldn’t turn around to tell. He was to focused on Quentins coughing and sputtering.

“Q! Q! Are you okay? We didn’t know what to do and I’m sorry and-”

Quentin lazily shushed him and let himself melt back into the couch. “Loud El, really fucking loud right now.”

“Everyone shut up!”

“Not helping.”

“Oh right.”

“Seriously, everyone..shut up.”

The three went silent, with the exception of what turned out to be Josh's sniffling. Quentin pinched the bridge of his nose and squeezed his eyes tightly shut. He winced before yelling. “I said everyone shut the fuck up!”

Eliot and Margo shared a look. They were calling a fucking hospital. Quentin seemed to have read their minds, but was also not helping his case.

“I’m not going to the hospital, when your a medium it’s kinda a shit show. I’m also not yelling at  _ you _ . Josh can you take this.” He said throwing him the syringe he ripped out of his chest, “While I deal with these bitches?”

Josh complied, because he didn’t tend to ask questions. Another stack of books got knocked over.

“Just because you can move things doesn’t mean you get to throw a fucking tantrum.”

“Who’s he talking to?” Margo whispered into Eliot’s ear. He couldn’t tell if she was afraid, or if she was she didn’t want to be. Eliot mouthed he didn't know. This was just supposed to be a stupid crush. The ouija board was going crazy now, Eliot started towards it.

“Poppy I’m not that much of an idiot I knew what I was doing, stop scaring them away!”

“Quentin?” Margo said, now a near puddle on the floor. He knelt down next to her. Eliot couldn’t make out all of what he said, but then he turned to the group.

“I’m sorry you guys, I’m really sorry. Sometimes I forget with like,  _ living _ people and now Alice you scare them again!--uh shit okay! Look so I died..”

“And that wasn’t fucking okay Quentin.”

Eliot was surprised it even came out of his mouth. He didn’t regret it.

“Look you guys should go home I was an idiot for involving you at all.”

“And let you pull shit like that alone!” Margo said. “Fat chance you  _ idiot. _ ”

Quentin had started crying quite suddenly, and he looked more confused by it than anything. “I don’t know what’s happening anymore okay!”

“You have us. We’ll figure it out.” Josh said.

Margo stroked his arm while Eliot stood at arms length. “Yeah, your our Family Q.”

I don’t want to sound like a jackass but no your not.”

“Quentin..” Margo started, but he pushed her away.

“We’ve been friends for what 3 months? Suddenly your my sister? Suddenly I’m part of what you have? This family? I just killed myself in front of you so why are you still here!”

“Look Q.” Eliot said. “I know all of this is..weird but--”

“But? What could you  _ possibly _ say Eliot your all terrified! Your just going to pretend like all of this isn’t fucking crazy! Family,  _ my  _ family? Look at what I got!” Quentin whipped around. Two women stood where they couldn’t be seen before, and seemed to be guilty of the destruction they now stood knee deep in. “Poppy, Alice, everyone! No more hiding. This is my family okay and they died before I was born and because they were  _ bored, _ and  _ selfish _ and so fucking nearsighted they ruined my life!”

Poppy was easily 6’5 in the heels and was wearing a tiny dress that kid nearly nothing, and a wig that looked to had started to slip off in the commotion. Alice was in a poofy gown and enormous hat, looking out of breath and flustered. She looked auspicious at Margo. The trio stood agape at their presence, then turned their attention back to Quentin.

“Can’t give you any more proof than that can I?” He said dryly with tears still running down his cheeks. He turned to Eliot. “I thought I could have had something good with you.”

Eliot looked into his eyes. “We still can.”

“ _ Those _ are my friends El. I don’t get you.”

“Of course you get me.”

“How? How do I get you when I’m such a fucking freak. You think this is it, and you can handle it, but it’s just the tip of the iceberg. I died, cause I wanted to find her and I--I--”

***

Quentin wasn’t sure why it took this long for him to cry over Julia.

He’s sporadic on a good day, it wasn’t out of character for him to run through hell screaming Julia’s name. It wasn’t out of character for him to find he wasn’t lucky. Hes ordinary in that way. The surefire way he was finding, to getting what you wanted, was to be so miserable your not sure you even want it anymore.

He wanted this so bad. He wanted people to see who he was talking to, and he wanted people to talk to, and he wanted sickenly simple  _ love _ .

Eliot touched his cheek after awhile of Quentin crying into his chest, a gesture that sent his entire body tingling with overstimulation. He wasn’t used to being touched. Eliot kissed him.

Quentin had almost forgotten what kissing felt like until now. It was like the bridge closing, relief flooding his system and this gaping hole in himself was finally filled. It was short, like a snap.

“I want something good with you, if you do.” Eliot said, tripping over his words, but it radiated confidence Quentin rarely, if ever seen.

Quentin kissed him again and Eliot went stiff for a second before melting into it. “I do too.”

“He finally got some dick.”

“Poppy!” The Alice said swatting at her. Quentin couldn’t help but laugh. All of this was so frankly absurd, but it just made  _ sense _ .

“Well spooky bitch ain’t wrong.”

“Margo!” From Eliot this time.

Quentin laughed and pressed his forehead into Eliot's chest. Everything still hurt, his head throbbing, but Julia didn’t hurt as much, because this was what Julia wanted for him. The kiss still felt surreal, or surreal as anything felt to Quentin.

“Hey.” Eliot said.

“Hey.”

“I’m sorry, about Harriet. That you couldn’t find her.”

“Oh..”

“Oh?”

“I couldn’t find  _ Julia _ . I got chased by this demon named Craig and had to compose my little pony erotica at a toll gate but I saved Harriet..sorta.”

“New rule where you always finish your fucking sentnces.”

“God your not possessed are you!” Josh said.

“No uh, we were getting chased, when I tried saving Julia too? Harriet was already pretty banged up since she was in the 7th circle so I tried binding her, like a physical object. At least until headhunters give up looking for her.”

It was at this moment, a sound could be heard in the shadows. Quentin had limited options. They tried a book, she couldn’t see or hear. Tried a camera turns out when your soul was partially fused with an electric chair that's a shit idea. There was one thing in the apartment that could see, and speak, and was dinosaur age tech used to taking a beating.

“Quentin, your fucking kidding me.”

Quentin planted a peck on Eliot cheek, like it could somehow soften the blow of a possessed Furbie rolling toward them.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bit all over the place because i decided to indulge myself at the last minute. i just had to get them together already! also Q was due for a breakdown lol. Forgive me for this shitty adaptation of that scene from TUA where Klaus meets God but with found family, cause i'm at least self aware this is a selfish queer flick and those are never about anything else lol. Also ive never kissed anyone so i hope this was realistic!


	16. Impaled By The Picket Fence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A trio gets drunk, a family busniess is comprimised, Alice wears a dress. 
> 
> WARNING: implied\refrences suicide. "Told him it was an accident--in the way you do when your hungover"
> 
> EDIT: I know Q is canonically from New York, I altered it now to be New Orleans. I've been trying to figure out the final battle with the big bad(s) (introduced next chapter) and it just ended up flowing better. Also now you get to imagine Q with a slight southern accent so your welcome, and I've embraced the fact he is now entirley to much like Misty Day

A possessed Furby is like a coked out gremlin. That's a good start to anything.

While Quentin drank a gallon of room temp Dr Pepper to stay awake and Josh went to get ‘glad you didn't stay dead’ burritos him, Alice, and Poppy attempted to parse through anything Harriet was saying. She kept resorting to Furby noises.

“You know maybe goo-gas is like a letter?” Poppy started.

“Can't we just consult Steve? He knows machines.” 

“Alice he moved on already!”

“He helped get your essay back when the machine deleted it at university.”

“We don't need Steve fucking Jobs in order to figure out a Furbie.”

“You met Steve jobs?” Eliot said with raised eyebrows from across the room. Him and Margo were busy staring into the middle distance and occasionally stress eating goldfish. Quentin or Eliot was yet to comment on recent developments.

“Post Mortem. He was in a much better mood since he didn't have to eat just fruit. Did you know he just ate fruit?”

“I did not.”

“One crazy bastard.” Poppy said. “How he got those things popular is magic like ours though.”

“Q, you call it magic?” Margo said.

“Most of this shits Voodoo.” Quentin mumbled. It got a chuckle out of Eliot. They were interrupted by ‘Harriet’ squawking at them. She sumersalted (because that's how Furbies move apparently) towards Eliot and started trying to peck at him. 

“Book! Book!”

“Is that her way of saying she's happy for us?” Eliot said with a twisted loopy grin. The Furbie rolled its eyes.

“Book! Cellar!”

Margo looked at Eliot funny.

“Does she mean  _ the  _ cellar? How the fuck did she even find it!”

“What's  _ the  _ cellar?” Quentin asked. Eliot face planted into the couch, got up, and tried to nonchalantly mention. “I may have a bit of a side business.”

“Does it have to do with the mummy?” Alice said offhandedly. Quentin's turn to be baffled.

“I'm sorry the  _ what _ .”

Alice said. “I got bored when you were bitched.”

“Not quite.”

“Fuck off.”

“Got it there.”

“Anyway I watched him. He keeps lots of shiny things in his cellar, and men in funny hats pick them up. I got bored again though, went back to watching that kid Kenny play Zelda.”

“You spied on us?” Margo said.

“We kinda spy on everyone.” Poppy said getting up to stretch her legs. She picked up Harriet and plopped her on the table, now seemingly content they got the message. When pressed about how she knew the books location, she would admit she never would have found it herself. The demons who tortured her told her exactly where it was. They didn’t care for what was in it, didn’t even know what it was about, they just knew it would drive her mad to know exactly where I was and never be able to get it.

“Anyway..” Eliot explained. “There was this one guy! Indiana Jones looking Motherfucker. Was used to drinking wine that was straight up  _ vinegar _ so he liked me real quick after I fixed him a drink. Said he needed to move some stuff around! I said sure, I needed money to bail out Margo..”

“ _ Why _ ?” Quentin said.

“My job is to hit on old lonely creeps. A lot of cops just assumed I was a hooker. Jesus this is why we made a website..”

“Anyway! He started storing things back there. Weird shit. Like shrunken heads, turtle eggs, now it's mostly mummies. I did recently get a book though. Bound in like fetal calfskin or some shit.”

Josh walked through the door just in time to stop Harriet from hysterically rolling off the table.

“Did she run out of batteries or something?”

“No.” Margo said as Harriet tried to bite Josh's finger with her plastic beak. “Quentins learning about the family business.”

“You mean the dinosaurs?”

Eliot shrugged. “We at one point had a dinosaur skeleton.”

“This is all  _ so _ weird.” Josh mumbled as he started setting up dinner.

“We’re aware.” Eliot, Margo said in unison. The rest of them nodded.

“Well, Q and I can get the book in the morning.” Eliot said.

“We’ll probably head out then.” Poppy said grabbing Alice's shoulder. “Since otherwise we'd just be staring at you eating.”

“You want me to set something on fire for outback. Can at least give you smell” Quentin said before looking at his friends and once again having to remind himself of basic etiquette. He gave an awkward smile and they seemed to roll with it. 

Alice and Poppy went see a movie about flavour of the week rock star you didn't know was gay and Harriett settled herself in the bedroom. Margo, Josh, Quentin, and Eliot are in silence for about twenty minutes, because eating was a good time to let things settle in your stomach. It reminded him of dinners with his Dad in way. You could tell so badly he wanted to understand, for Quentin to tell him about hockey or a girlfriend, but his son was (according to everyone else at home) a paranoid schizophrenic. He settled for saying nothing at all. On second thought, this didn't remind Quentin of home.

“So..will Quentin finally admit that furniture was a good investment?”

“From what I hear the apartment was truly sad.” Josh chastised.

“It was not that sad!”

“Okay but that's when we though just you were living in it.” Eliot added. “The fact that two women couldn't fix this makes it sadder.”

“Oh please Milton spends the most time here anyway.”

“And his accommodations were like the Ritz compared to what this was. Who votes we teach Quentin more about caring for his well being more than a dead dog?” Margo said, petting Miltons head as he begged under the table. Quentin focused and he stayed solid, her hand having some resistance up against it. It was a funny thing to control.

“Second that. Same rule applies to ghosts.” Eliot said. “How long have you known them anyway?”

“Alice? Must have been 2. She said we met in a park but not like I remember it. Poppy like 9. I got lost trying to get to gamestop, wandered into a Gay Bar? We can ignore the influence but she was cool and lead me home. The Harriet's practically my mama.”

“Seriously?”

“Taught me to tie my shoes and everything. And pick pretty much any kind of lock. As you can guess my Dad was horrified.”

“Is he like..” Josh insulated, frantically waving his arms around the room. Quentin laughed.

“He's home in New Orleans, but I can't exactly go visit even if he wanted me too. Sorry if this is weird, it's still kinda weird, I'm not really supposed to talk about it.”

“Weird is a gentle term.” Eliot said

“Like, reality shifting? God Julia would kill me..”

“Speaking of which is God real?” Eliot teased.

Margo said. “I plan on sending him a  _ strongly  _ worded email. Gmail?”

“ _ Them _ . Gods not really a binary.” Quentin corrected nervously.

“How they feel about this lot?” Josh said. “I think we qualify as poster children of Hell.”

“Josh!” Margo said hand over her heart, mock wounded.

“We have a junkies, whores, dealers, queers, and a necromancer for Pete's sake.”

“Pete's sake?”

“Well if Gods real..”

Quentin fell asleep pretty quickly after that. He clung to Harriet like a lifeline. During this time, the remaining trio got very, very drunk.

***

“Ghosts are fucking real!” Margo said unceremoniously giggling. Eliot had already yelled at her to shut up before realizing he was part of the problem.

“So ghosts are always watching us.” Josh started. “Then has my Grandma been like watching me this whole fucking time? Shit um, forking? I don't think Gladace would approvate what I do at school.”

“I still can't get over the fact your the only one in college.” Eliot said.

Josh got up on the table to proclaim. “ I am a smart and abled person. *burp* who does what he must to make a living.  _ And  _ it's how I met you lot.”

“Well learned my lesson.” Eliot said. “We accept strangers into the fold, love them, then it turns out there's some crazy shit we don't know about and are forced to accept. Like the fact that you smuggle adderall in a can of sardines.”

“It's not that weird! Like anyone would want to open a can of sardines, foolproof! Margo?”

“I'm not coming to your defense tonight babe. Besides, I've been fighting with him since we were 10 and haven't made a whole lot of progress.” She said inspecting her nails, and promptly forgetting what she was doing in the middle of it. She took another swig of Tequila, because to Eliot's dismay it was her pick of poison.

“Also..” Eliot said. “How the fuck was out little Q raised by a felon, a drag queen, and a  _ demon _ and come out this achingly normal.”

“Who you  _ rather _ he were insane?” Margo said.

“Still a fucking flower shop?”

“Please the kid  _ wants _ normal. Why he kissed you isn't it? Also you better not cock out again.”

“Cock out?” Josh said.

“New thing I'm trying. I'd say pussy, but let's be honest. Which is tougher.”

Eliot and Josh shrugged, because winning an argument with Margo when she drunk (a radical feminist with an affinity for ferrets) is like winning the lottery.

Josh took another drink. “Betelgeuse Betelgeuse-”

“I beg you not to finish that.”

“I'll just go in a mirror and summon Bloody Mary instead. Cause why not? I went to hell Eliot. Hells real!”

“I think we kinda knew that going in.” Margo drawled.

“At least we'll be burning side by side right? And Q knows a demon. Maybe we get perks. Princess and Princes perhaps? Could be nice.” Eliot said.

“Honey. I wouldn't be a princess. I'd be a motherfucking king!”

Margo was the next fly to drop.

She went and snuggled with Quentin in the bed, an act that did not make Eliot just a tiny bit jealous in the slightest. He mumbled some but didn't really seem to mind, as Margo took the side that didn't have a Furby on it.

“You know I thought getting married would be the most stressful part of my year.” Josh mused at the ceiling. It all made Eliot feel rather maudlin.

“Technically that part already happened.”

“I'm not even sure that was legally binding. Vegas weddings should not be legally binding, she deserves better.”

“That's why your throwing an actual one.”

“Do we even bother? With all of this? I'll say I've accepted it but, all of this! I don't know how Margos sleeping.”

“Please she always sleeps when she's freaked out. I couldn’t wake her up for 10 hours after she told me she gave her first blowjob. She might be best off though, no demons or my uh, problem? Fuck I can’t believe he hasn’t said anything about Logan. But ghosts? Him? Shit maybe I’ve made my peace because.. why not? Why  _ doesn't _ he have a dead yorkie he spoils? Best friends with a legit demon. This is kinda what Dad expected of me.”

“In some ways you can't blame him. You are a bit of a lush.”

“I think that statement qualifies as a hate crime.”

“Your impossible.” Josh teased.

“Your lucky I didn't beat you up. I might have to a little before the wedding though. Pretty sure that's tradition.”

“Like anything about this is traditional?”

“We can keep some.. just the ones we like. Who says you can't pick and choose what you follow eh?”

Josh and Eliot fell asleep on the table, because neither was a stranger to that kind of thing.

***

Margo was the first to get up that morning, of the living at least.

Guess she had changed into one of Quentins T-Shirts at some point, which gave the whole act a rather salacious and crawly feel. Made her question for a minute if she should tell his roommate how she likes her eggs done.

Quentin was still snuggling the Furby, and nonchalantly she wondered what that wedding reception would look like, or mothers day, or anything really. Suppose in some ways it was more tangible than the rest of this, the only thing you could hold in your hand. She wasn’t sure why it brought her comfort. She found her clothes tossed in the other room, Alice cooing over them.

“I’m sorry!” She said meekly, turning to go out the door.

“No uh, Alice? It’s your house. I think at least, though doubt your names on the deed.”

“I’m sorry though, about your dress, it might be wrinkled now.”

“It’s fine, it’s not even that nice.”

“Its beautiful.”

Alice was dressed in true Victorian garb. Her waist looked like the head of a pin and her bust pushed up under her chin. Her petite figure was swallowed by the layers and her face moony face barley shone through among her curls. “Your dress is beautiful too. Mines just black.”

“That's what makes it so. It’s all you, when you wear it. There’s nowhere to hide.”

“That's usually what people hate about it you know..you can try it on if you want, your little like me.”

Alice started backing away. “I mean I could even _ lift  _ clothes before I’m sure I couldn’t..”

“Try.”

Wordlessly she removed her coat, then set her eyes downcast until Margo turned around. It was strange how transfixing Alice was, how easily things came. It was clear she carried some aura of lost love or senseless tragedy, but now she was just a girl.

Margo felt a tap on her shoulder. Alice looks positively stunning, and she wouldn’t stop running her hands along the curves.

“You look beautiful Alice.”

Alice ran to a mirror that hung in the living room. Margo stood next to her, and Alice's hair in her fingers to quickly pin it back.

“It was a wedding dress you know.”

“It was pretty.”

“It wasn’t mine.”

“Oh?”

“I loved someone when I was alive, love in my time. It’s different for you, you see it in talkies. I think none of you would fall in love like you do if you’d never seen it before. My father forced me to marry, or I would beg like a dog on the street. I died, before then.”

“I’m sorry.”

“The bastard buried me in it. For eternity I’m doomed to wear it.”

“I ran away from mine too.”

“But you love Josh?” Which was a weird thing to hear coming from someone besides Eliot or maybe Quentin. Interactions with Alice almost feel like she was talking to a fan, only it was of her entire life. At least the parts Alice had been around for.

“It wasn’t Josh, it was a high school boyfriend. I was 18, we rushed into it. It was all my family ever wanted for me. The picket fence and all that bullshit. Maybe double divorce they just felt jipped but.. I didn’t even look at any college applications. I didn’t love him, two weeks before the wedding Eliot and I moved away together and I broke it off. I still thinks it's strange sometimes, that I’m choosing it now.”

“But it’s love.”

“Suppose your right. You should keep the dress. Or better yet I’ll take you shopping..”

“No! I mean the dress its, perfect! Your..I-”

“You don’t need to tell me nothing. Is Poppy here, you should show her.”

“I think she’d like it.” She giggled. “She might steal the rest of your dresses though, or maybe my old one.”

“Perhaps I should wear it down the aisle.” Margo mused. It actually did sound like a nice idea.

“I’m not sure how long it will last without me.” She laughed. One of the boys, presumably Quentin began to stir.

“I should change back.”

“Why? You love the dress. I don’t need it it’s yours.”

“Quentin probably won’t..”

“Fuck what he thinks kitty.”

“He’s my friend.” She said biting her lip. “I don’t think he needs more change..”

“But you could use some.”

Alice looked at the floor, adorably flustered. She glanced at herself in the mirror again and tried to force a smile. Margo took the quick moment to hang Alice’s old dress over a chair. Her dress shopping  _ was _ so rudely interrupted after all.

“Your brave Margo, that you ran away.”

“You had no choice. I had options you didn’t.”

She looked at herself in the mirror, an admission of guilt to which she was the witness. “I told Quentin it was an accident. That my mama probably forgot to put out the candle. I was the only one in the house that day. The birds were chattering and the leaves had just begun to fall. I lit the match, I thought I wouldn’t feel much, but I felt all of it.”

“Alice..”

“When it was over I couldn’t help but smile when my lungs couldn’t take any more air. This feels better.” She said quizzically, as if she didn’t understand the importance of the words she spoke. Margo wasn’t sure how to respond, but she understood, in that way you do when your hungover.

“The one you love Alice, are they still here? You should show them.”

“I can’t. Maybe it’s better, it’s just mine now.” She gave a little twirl and stumbled over herself. She knocked over a book and looked frantic, scared, then resorted to laughing again. Josh (passed out on the table) was the only one to wake up.

“Hey, you look hot.” and right back to sleep. Margo figured it’s probably counter productive to be jealous with a dead girl and snorted. Alice laughed too, as if waiting for permission. Margo suggested they make breakfast, and after ignoring all of Alice's insane over peppered suggestions, they settled on scrambled eggs. When Alice was wearing the dress, she just seemed like a modern girl. True one with a pathetic excuse for slang but beggars can’t be choosers. Also let's face it, Margo did kinda need a girlfriend, and Poppy didn’t exactly seem her speed. Ignoring all of yesterday's traumatic bullshit and the fact Margo is canonically known for ignoring her problems, today seemed to be putting the fun in funeral.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was getting really long so uh, figured I'd just post. I also really just wanted to have a Margo Alice moment, and I'm planning a Josh Poppy one! I did kinda want to explain how M and E have money and this is what I came up with. Also the next chapter exposes the big bad, any gusses?


	17. The Morning After- Pt.1

Quentin woke up looking into the cold, uncaring eyes of a Furby, and was calm. He saw Alice and Margo in the kitchen, and suddenly wasn't. There was something to seeing your mom friends dressed like the morning after, and especially so Alice, who was doing a pretty good job of awakening some long dormant 11 year old crush.

“Like the new look Q?” Margo teased. Quentin had to make a point of closing his mouth.

“Yeah um.. how?”

“Don't know, I won't be asking questions.” Alice said with a confidence that was unfamiliar to her, and went back to serving. 

Alice was a weird relationship. She's been around longer than anybody, including Quentin's Dad if you count running away. She was also the only person who remembers his Mom, him included, which also made things complicated. Not to mention Quentin was 75% sure Alice was falling in love with Margo just a little bit.

“Morning Q.” Josh mumbled from the couch. It looked like he had woken up only to straighten his shirt then falls asleep again. Eliot had set up camp in the armchair he claimed to have hated, and Quentin press a kiss to his forehead, because smugly he thought, he could do that now.

“Morning Josh. I'm gonna guess y'all raided my liquor cabinet?”

“You mean the concerning amount of fireball, shitty tequila, and one nice bottle of wine  _ from us  _ that you keep in one of your like, four cubords?”

“Your awful judgy for guests don't you think?”

“Why Quentin, they're only saying what Poppy and I have been all along!” Alice teased in her exaggerated southern belle persona. He was getting pretty annoyed she was getting ahold of sarcasm.

“Also where's Poppy?”

“Processing.”

“I'm not going to that fucking gay bar again. They always ask to butter my biscuit.”

“Eliot might be down.” Josh laughed. Margo punched, then kissed him because while Josh was most certainly right, it didn't mean she had to be happy about it.

“What is it with you lot at fucking..8 am?” Eliot said groggily rising from his chair.

“Morning sunshine!” Margo sung much louder than necessary. “There is a day anew!”

“I don't know how we ever shared a room Margs.”

“Try sharing a bed.” Josh mumbled.

“Hey!”

All of this was sickeningly domestic, and Q was kinda shocked he was semi comfortably fitting 5 (6? Furbies?) people in his apartment. Before whatever bullshit his powers decided to bring him next, or God forbid they decided to address _ any  _ of their pressing problems, Quentin took the time to settle next to Eliot, who still seemed to be remembering that, oh yeah, we like each other.

“Quentin and I will probably go now.”

“Y'all better not fuck in my Van.”

“God Josh I get a UTI from just  _ sitting _ in your van.”

“But!-”

“I don't care that it looks like the goddamn mystery machine! 

Quentin didn't protest leaving. He wanted to get a proper kiss out of Eliot, something he suspected he wouldn't get in a crowded room. Seriously how had Eliot been the one to make a move?

Eliot lead Quentin out by the wrist. It was a funny little habit he'd picked up, he'd hold on tight and nudge in the direction he wanted to go, but his feet never left the floor until Quentin got up himself. It was like Eliot didn't trust he would actually want to follow him anywhere, as if  _ this _ would suddenly be the day he decided against it. When they were in the car Eliot asked a question that wasn't where's our first date gonna be..

“Can you be in the cellar, with like.. mummies and stuff?”

“Oh, yeah. There thousands of years old I doubt they haven't moved on already.”

“That's what Harriet did. Moved on.”

“Yeah. The plane of reality I can see, more if a way station really. It's where the soul lives, our bodies are on this plane..or that's something close. It's really just a waiting room.”

“And that kid you saw.. Logan. Has he?”

_ Shit. _

_ “ _ I don't know for sure, but I doubt it. You don't have to tell me who he is, if you don't want to or nothin’”

“Well, what if he talks to you.”

“There's seriously no pressure El.”

“He's from our hometown.. Logan. He dated Margo when we were teenagers. I also.. well, they were going to get married.”

“Wait wouldn't you have been like 17?”

“Your from the south I wouldn't that would be the thing you find odd.”

“Exactly. Not odd for me, for  _ Margo _ ? In Nevada? Weird.”

“Okay point but, she didn't love him,

She was just doing it to please her Dad, especially since he wasn't the nicest to me. Anyway we ran away, literally two weeks before the wedding.”

“El!”

“Not either of our proudest moments okay! Anyway, we found out from our Dad he died a few months later. It was my fault. Margo didn't even want to leave really, I talked her into it. Then out first year at it she was the breadwinner, and the business wasn't as.. sanitized as it is now. That's like, most of the story anyway.”

“There's more?”

“You said there wasn't any pressure right?”

“Of course not.”

“Then there's.. not.”

“Okay. Now tell me things.”

“What?”

“I like hearing you talk. Tell me about something.”

“I think you've heard enough about the wedding. Until last night shenanigans it's all that's been on my mind.”

“Frankly I'm offended.”

“Shut up!”

“But actually, we should like. Go somewhere. Somewhere that's not your cellar where you keep, what was it again? Dead bodies?”

“Hey we all pay the bills! And I uh, had plans too..Margos such a planner she wouldn't shut up about it! She had tickets to Little Shop of Horrors. Thought it was a little on the nose though. Also kinda gay.”

“El, hate to break it to you.”

“You know what I meant! I’m sorry this is the part I’m bad at.”

“Really, for such a flirt? Maybe-”

“Were here!”

He was lead underground on a mouldy concrete staircase and out of respect pretended he wasn't gagging. Eliot didn't seem to mind, though he did seem mildly embarrassed to have Quentin there with him.

The lights flickered to life and exposed all that well, wasn’t. 

Quentin wasn’t afraid to admit he thought Eliot had been exaggerating. If anything it was a bit of an undersell. 

Its single light build swung appropatly maudlin and dusty, mummies, gold, and pottery all spilling out of crates onto the straw strewn floor. Packing peanuts crunching underfoot Eliot quickly consulted a tiny notepad and, mumbling to himself, settled on a book in the far corner. The box read ‘don't even think about it’, always a good omen.

“Maybe we shouldn’t.” Quentin piped up.

“Why not.”

“All of this is kinda going against my basic principles.”

“You have  _ principles _ ? Why that’s not fun.” Eliot jokes, returning to himself. “Though I suppose I’m breaking a few of my own rules as well.”

“Guess breaking rules was supposed to be what made us.. interesting?”

“Q, I think we’re being worryingly optimistic if you think I’m the protagonist in any story.”

“Everyones the hero in their story. Even assholes think they're the heroes. Not even villains. Just inexplicably average, annoying people.”

“Okay off topic, seriously why shouldn’t we open it.”

“Because I wat to help plan Margo’s wedding. I want to enter Milton in a puppy pageant or something, I want to be with you without all this..plot. Bullshit? Lets call it bullshit.”

“No one ever wrote books about the guy who stayed at home.”

“I’m not so sure I want a book written about me anyway.”

“Well there already seems to be one, right in front of us in fact. Don’t you want to know? Control it?”

“It’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

“Then take it.”

The book, which wasn’t very heavy, had unevenly cut pages and seemed to vibrate with energy.

“The first page is just an invitation.” Eliot said cocking his head.

Quentin pulled it out slowly and examined it. “I can’t open it, it's like the seals made of superglue.”

“Shit does that really say it’s addressed to  _ Pestilence _ ?”

“El, I think this is a plot..”

“I see your point on ignoring it now. I’m all down for leaving this shit here and getting frozen yogurt.”

There are times when you feel an inexplicable pull toward something. It twists up your insides and cuts away at your gums. Quentin did not tell Eliot, nor any of his other friends for that matter, he stuck the invitation in a mailbox, because it was one of those self destructive things that felt good.

***

This is a story, imagine  _ The _ with a giant swirly T and some artful illustrations. The beginning of the story  _ you _ know about the end of the world is about 70% accurate, and just like any good movie with terrible editing, how you tell a story is everything.

“Tycho stop being a dick. You can't stack a plus two on a plus four.”

Ye Olde Earth serves as ground floor for dimensions. Your soul exists in one and your body in the other. Very few things can see into both. Angels and Demons, Quentin and those around him, and characters we haven’t been introduced to yet.

“But I would have Uno!”

“Thought shit! Besides this is hell, you think you could even win?”

Julia was playing Uno with Tycho Brahe on her lunch break. He was a Danish prince and astronomer who was stupidly rich, and died because he held his piss so long his bladder burst.

“Your just mad because you miss your child.”

“Quentin isn’t a child.”

“Well I assumed he was the way you speak of him. Jepp would have told me so.”

“For the last time, you keeping a  _ supposedly clairvoyant dwarf  _ under your table at dinner parties relates to nothing of substance. If anything it’s points  _ against _ your character.”

“I will go to my grave saying I was a good man.”

Julia rolled her eyes. “You have no nose. You literally fucked your best friend's wife and he cut off your nose!”

“Wild! Switch to blue!”

“Damn it!”..which was a counter productive thing to say in hell.

“What do you want with him anyway. Or Harriet?”

“I don’t want anything I just need to talk to them. Nothing is safe anymore. Either Quentins going to have a wet dream and raise the dead or Harriets going to get found or maybe the rapture might come! I don’t know, because I’m stuck! And very unbelievably dead.”

‘How did you die by the way?”

“An accident. Which I believe you could have used. Seriously how did your bladder  _ burst _ ?”

Tycho shrugged and drew another card from the table, then another, then another.. It would be taking a while.

“Still, I think you could try a little harder.”

“How could I possibly.”

“Ask God.”

“God? You want me to ask Almighty God to do what exactly?”

“Give you a body, can’t be that hard. Made you one the first time right.”

“Your aware we didn’t end on good terms.”

“Something can be said about forgiveness.”

“That it forces the victim to take responsibility to alleviate someone else's guilt?”

“Maybe put more eloquently.”

A stranger sauntered past the two of them riding a horse. He was near a skeleton with an ill fitting expensive suit and purple alligator shoes. The closer he got Julias stomach began to twist into knots, she felt she would die if she didn't eat her own tongue this very second. He stopped a moment at her, and smiled.

“Why pet, this is only the beginning.”

He whipped the horse and it began to climb and invisible staircase towards the ceiling, melting into it and screeching up towards the world. Julia was left baffled in the center of the earth, one card in her hand. 

“Tycho..I think that was my problem.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not much but its something. Also barley scarcthed the surface with tycho hes one weird motherfucker. should be writing college apps but tahts kinda hard without outing myself. tell me again why honesty is important?


End file.
